


Tales from the Tower

by Lady_Viola_Delesseps



Category: Captain America (Movies), Man of Steel (2013), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: AU backstory fic!, Asgard watches Midgard like a reality show, Avenger Loki, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower, Backstory, Clark Kent joins the Avengers, Clint Feels, F/M, Just tons of headcanons, Loki Angst, MAJOR LIBERTIES TAKEN, Manipulative Loki, Minor Bruce Banner/Betty Ross, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Needs a Hug, Peggy Carter is Tony Stark's Mother, Spiderman joins the Avengers, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tons of backstory, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 49,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Viola_Delesseps/pseuds/Lady_Viola_Delesseps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers were a team of mighty heroes that Loki was originally a part of. But when he is forcibly disowned from the group for seducing another member, one Natasha Romanov, the group must stand together to see what they're really made of. They also must make to do with two fill-ins, namely, Peter Parker and Clark Kent. Tony and Steve's dislike of each other is revealed as having its roots in a long-buried secret, and as Clint struggles with nightmarish recollections of Budapest, Bruce experiences bouts of regret for leaving his family behind. Is this new family any substitute? Will Thor bring Loki to justice, or is he just making things worse for everyone? Because we know what happens when Loki is angered... all Helheim breaks loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye, Peggy

**Author's Note:**

> "Missing someone, they say, is self-centered. I self-center you more than ever."
> 
> -Sasa Stanisic

Her brown hair blew in front of her lovely face, obscuring it, a small piece sticking in her lipstick. Her pupils were tiny, her brows fierce. "You can't give me orders!"

"You bet I can! I'm a Captain!" Steve's voice shouted back...

"...This is why you were chosen. Because the strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion..."

"This is my choice..." There was a long pause, and then he spoke her name again. "Peggy –"

"I'm here."

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance." There was a long pause and Steve stared at the clouds surrounding his cockpit without really seeing them. Then her voice came, restrained, yet full of emotion..

"Alright. A week next Saturday. At the Stork Club... Don't you dare be late, understood?"

"You know, I still don't know how to dance." Steve could imagine her smile through her tears in the communications room back at the base.

"I'll show you." The pause was so great afterward that he thought he lost her, but then her voice came through once again, distorted by tears and static. "Just be there."

Steve took a deep breath and pulled his compass from his pocket, easily peeling off the tiny picture pf Peggy he had cut from some unwanted papers. The piece of tape on the back was old and hardly worth anything; he propped it up in front of his altimeter and pulled the lever without removing his eyes from her face.

"We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your –"

Steve's eyes flew open, and he looked about him for a brief moment with blurry eyes, and then took in a deep breath. Slowly it dawned on him – he was alive. He was breathing. He could... move. He flexed his hand open and shut, and his eyes gradually focused on another figure in the room, which looked to be a hospital, or an observation unit, or a... prison.

The figure's back was to him, but he seemed busy, sorting various implements as quietly as he could onto a metal tray, checking a monitor, and then picking up a tiny device no bigger than a half a sandwich and beginning to press buttons on it.

Steve opened his mouth slightly and licked his lips, preparing to test his vocal chords. He began by clearing his throat, and shifting slightly on the bed. The figure turned, and smiled.

"Good to see you around. Did you wake up earlier?"

Steve furrowed his brow and shook his head. "I tho –" He grimaced and cleared his throat. "I don't think so."

The man nodded. "Alright. We weren't sure, but we put you under for another couple of hours to finish our tests. You're really a walking miracle."

Steve closed his eyes and smiled. "We'll see about the walking part."

"I can't wait. Doctor Bruce Banner," the man said, advancing and offering his hand. Steve lifted his arm slowly to meet it and gave the doctor a fairly decent handshake.

"Good to meet you, Doctor. I'm Steve Ro–"

"We know." Bruce smiled again. "Captain America, right?"

"Sure. Who's we?" Steve asked, it finally dawning on him that he most likely was face to face with his rescuer, or a representative of a team who saved his life in some way he failed to remember...

"Long story. Story for when you're stronger. How do you feel?" Bruce asked, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair.

Steve grimaced. "Like I've been encased in ice for a century."

"Well, you're almost right. Do you want to sit up?" Bruce removed his glasses, and tucked them in his shirt pocket, rising, and grasping Steve's upper arm. The super-soldier looked at him.

"Can I get up?"

"Let's start with sitting." Bruce chuckled, assisting Steve in pivoting so his legs dangled over the edge of the bed and his feet rested on the floor. For the first time, Steve caught sight of the clothes he was wearing; he was clad in pants the like of which he'd never seen. The garment ended at the knee, had elastic at the top, and tiny holes all over the slick-feeling fabric. Up top he wore a normal-feeling t-shirt and he wondered, his face growing hot, how in the world he had gotten out of his battered suit and into this attire.

"Where am I?" Steve wondered aloud, looking up to see Bruce tapping the surface of the half-a-sandwich-sized device, causing it to light up and emit a small dinging noise. Steve watched, fascinated.

"Currently, you are in the infirmary of what is called Stark Tower, in New York–"

"Stark Tower?" Steve asked incredulously. "You know Howard Stark?"

Bruce shook his head. "Not Howard. Tony. Tony Stark. He fully redid the plans that his father began, and is probably the most famous man of 2012."

Wait – Twenty-twelve? What are you talking about?"

Bruce took in his breath, and then exhaled, rubbing his face. "I'm so sorry. I was told to break it to you gently, but... I guess I'm just not good at that. That's the year."

"What?" Steve breathed, staring intently at Bruce. "That's – that's..."

"I know. Take your time. It's unbelievable to the rest of us too. I mean –" Banner chuckled sheepishly. "You look like a moviestar from the silent films. The hair..."

Steve idly ran a hand through his light hair, pushing it back from his brow, and finally burst out, "What about the forties? The fifties? The sixties? The seventies? The eight-"

"Yeah, skip them all from the seventies onward. You didn't miss much."

"I missed them? You're saying I missed all of that, and now we're in a new millennium?"

Banner nodded. "Like I said, you're a walking miracle. A lot of things will have changed. It'll be quite the adjustment to make. I'm supposed to sort of, you know, look out for you for a while."

"Thanks," Steve murmured, his mind whirling. "Can I lay back down now?"

"Sure," Bruce replied, standing, and easing him back on the pillow. "Do you want anything to drink? Something to eat?"

"Does everyone still know what coffee is?" Steve asked, rubbing his face.

"Yeah, but I'd just recommend a glass of water for now, and see how your system takes it. Do you want ice?"

"Sure," Steve managed, and took a deep breath swallowing as Bruce left the room. "Twenty-twelve..." He whispered. "Goodbye, Peggy."


	2. Between a Rock and a Stony Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a misunderstood genius."  
> "What's misunderstood?"  
> "Nobody thinks I'm a genius."
> 
> -Bill Watterson

"Tony, you're going to wear out to floor," Pepper scolded for the tenth time, or at least so she thought. "Bruce is doing what he's supposed to. It's just going to take time."

"Do you think he'll really be able to see me this evening?" Tony wheeled, and put the question to Agent Clint Barton who had just entered the room.

"Don't ask me, I was just coming to say would you knock it off, you're making everyone on the floor nervous," he said wryly, giving him a half-smile, and handing a file to Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, and one of the century's most classy women. "Compliments of Banner."

"The Banner!" Tony made a dive for the file, but Pepper held it out of reach. "Not for you," she said, rising, and going over to the glass walls of the lounge that looked out upon the Manhattan skyline. She perused it quickly, ignoring Tony's tirade which was vocalized at Clint, but really directed toward Pepper about whose name was even on this tower, whose name was the company's anyway, who was instigating this experiment etc. etc. etc.

"Unbelievable," Pepper shook her head, and turning, walked out of the room, her heels making a sharp clip-clip-clip on the polished floors.

"Really," Tony sighed.

"Just relax. You're going to give Pepper a heart attack some day."

"Already tried. It didn't work." Stark shrugged, and as Clint left the room after Pepper, called to his AI system, "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?" the automated voice with its crisp English accent returned.

"Give me the update on Project Snow-Cap"

"Doctor Banner is currently engaged in a quiet conversation with the patient, and the patient is consuming a glass of water and a few crackers."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Tony returned, and flopped back onto the couch. "Just a few more hours."

"So, does anyone feel like explaining what is going on?" Natasha Romanov said, slamming down the automatic pistol she was meticulously cleaning, and turning as Clint marched into the room.

Thor, the mighty god of thunder turned from where he had been perusing a book in a large chair Captain America, right? This is the real deal."

"Of course it's the real deal," muttered Clint, rifling through the pillows on the sofa before tossing them all aside so he could take a seat. Thor's brother Loki, a tall, lanky figure, entered the room nearly silently and caused everyone to jump when he began to speak:

"If this is really his first experience with humans since your year Nineteen-hundred-forty then I can't help but assume that he forms the opinion that the world is a very strange place."

"Not surprising if you're in it, brother," Thor laughed, and thumped him on the back. "I have not yet seen you this morning."

"I was reading."

"As was I."

"More 'How to talk like Romeo and Juliet'?" The two turned, and beheld Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

"Morning, Greenjeans," he tipped his forelock to Loki, and grinned at the rest of the group. "Exciting, isn't it?" He flopped back on the couch and made a show of throwing his arm around Natasha, who promptly scooted away, much to Clint's amusement.

"It's eternally amusing to me what a small occurrence it takes to blow humans' minds," Loki said, chuckling, and lacing his fingers together. "No offense, of course."

Natasha cocked her head. "Small occurrence? I suppose this sort of thing happens every day in Asgard."

"Now, Lady Natasha, no need to rise in arms. I would have thought you knew when my brother was in a gaming mood by now," Thor folded his arms.

Loki bowed gravely. "Of course "

"Captain America." Tony burst out. "The original. The only."

"...I guess," Steve finished, a bit breathless already at this fellow's conversation pace.

"I've heard a lot about you," Stark said flippantly, toying with the implements at his side. "I guess you're pretty famous, or you were. I don't know about now. The world's getting smaller with technology, so we'll find out soon enough. You know, I still can't believe that you are the guy my dad never shut up about. They find you carefully preserved in the Atlantic "

"The Titanic?" Steve said in confusion. "Am I missing something? I was born the decade the Titanic sank, but if you're talking about something else, then " Steve's head was spinning, and he guessed he must have looked like it, because Tony stopped, and asked, "Am I wearing you out? Bruce said for me not to wear you out. I sometimes have that effect on people."

"No, not at all yes, you kind of are..." Steve stammered, trying to remain polite, yet truthful. He was also struggling to ignore the innate annoyance and lack of respect he immediately felt toward this self-important lunatic. He was like Howard, only exponentially worse...

"Maybe you could tell me about your dad. I knew him, and that's something we could talk about together. I don't think it would really work for you to try and catch me up on 70 years of world history in twenty minutes. I knew Howard Stark as a friend, a co-worker, and a "

"I didn't say anything like that."

"Okay, so, Stark family history night, gather 'round kiddies, and you'll hear a tale of love, betrayal, genius and madness!" Tony chirped.

"What happened to him?" Steve managed.

"Killed. Car wreck. I was just a little tyke. Don't remember much, he was probably a lousy dad. Always busy with something or other. Mom was better. She taught me to play the piano."

"Peggy played the piano?" Steve's eyes widened. "I never knew that. So he had been in that room countless times with him...

"Wow," he said, handing it back to Tony. "That's Stark alright."

"I'm Stark too," Tony said carelessly, and for the first time, Steve got a good look at him. The resemblance was unmistakeable I loved your mother."

"Sorry. Here it is." Steve held his breath, and continued to hold it, even after he realized that this was not the same picture he had of Peggy Carter. He felt foolish realizing it but somehow he had hoped it would be the same one. It would give his shifting world a little bit of solidarity to see a familiar face throughout the ages.

But this picture was different. If she had looked beautiful in her S.S.R. uniform, then this was absolutely stunning. One look at it showed it was definitely post-Stark. It wasn't that he could never imagine Peggy looking this way before or during the war it was her face. The dress was nice they looked far-off, and, dare he say... wistful? Tony's snicker interrupted his thoughts once again.

"Save it for the bedroom, Rogers," he joked. "Your face is just killing me."

Steve thrust the picture back at him, and shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying to decide whether to imprint the picture into his memory or erase it. "Could you send Bruce in? I have a question, and then I need a rest," Steve said, slowing easing himself back.

"I can probably answer."

"You probably can't."

"I probably can," Tony insisted. "I'm a clinically rated genius, and I have a real good knowledge of science, that I can and will prove."

"Never mind," Steve muttered. "Are you aware of my previous relationship with your - parents?" he managed.

"Nope, not at all." Tony began pacing back and forth, twiddling his fingers behind his back. "You gonna tell me?"

"If you want to hear."

"I'm dying of curiosity."

"Would you stop with the dying and killing references?" Steve exploded, forgetting gentlemanly behavior and growing genuinely upset. "You really ought to have a little sensitivity. It's not that I can't stand you, although I nearly can't. But you ought to be careful of that around anybody! Not to mention a soldier who has seen dying and killing enough to haunt him all his normal days, let alone all the other days God for some reason decided to give him. It's downright heartless to talk like that." His brows were knit fiercely together. "You don't know. Somebody could have really died recently, or been killed, or they could still think about it every day without you making jokes like you don't know anything about it!"

Tony had stopped pacing and stood stock still as Steve ranted, and when he finally broke off, remained silent – an extremely rare occurrence – until Pepper and Banner hurried into the room.

"What's going on?" Pepper demanded, looking at Tony like he was automatically to blame.

"Nothing," Stark muttered, and pushed past her and the doctor, stalking down the hall. Pepper turned and watched him go, and after a long look exchanged with Banner, set off to follow him.

Bruce crossed the room, switched off the lamp and inquired, "What happened? I told him not to upset you."

"It was my fault," Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. "I'd like to be left alone for a while, if you don't mind."

Bruce took a look at the monitor on the wall and silently began removing the many wires and tubes attached to Steve's arms, neck, and chest.

"Alright," he said at last. "If something happens, just call. The AI system is called JARVIS – it will contact me if you decide you need anything."

"Thanks," Steve managed, as the doctor calmly left the room. How that guy and that lady lived with Stark without getting a nervous breakdown was beyond him. How Peggy... he banished that train of thoughts from his head, and with a soldier's promptitude, forced himself into sleep.


	3. Loki and Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Thou art all ice. Thy kindness freezes."
> 
> -William Shakespeare

Clint heard her coming, but he knew there was no sense in telling her so. It wasn't that she was trying to sneak up on him and he let her – nothing like that – it was a tacit understanding, a silent pact, an inner feeling of awareness of the other person born of years of high-peril work together, and perhaps something more.

"Hey, Tasha," he said, saying the nickname carelessly, but mentally savoring it like every other time he said it, knowing that he was the only one of the six – now seven, counting the thawed soldier – allowed to call her that without receiving a knife somewhere uncomfortable.

"Hey, Barton." His back was to her as he bent over his work in the floor: a couple trick arrows he was fitting with a miniaturized version of something similar to an arc reactor. He and Tony had been working on developing an improvement over his original battery-operated C.F. system-hacking arrow.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing as a table?" she inquired dryly, continuing to focus on the view of his back as he worked. "It's actually kind of nice, and not too expensive."

Clint grunted as he pulled a wire tight. "Yeah, heard of them once a long time ago, decided I wasn't really interested in checking them out. Not my kind of thing."

"You know you look like a nut case down there when most normal people work at tables."

"I'm not doing this for looks. The floor works better for me."

They sat in silence for a long moment, until Natasha finally asked, "So, what do you think of this?"

"This is nice. This is also sometimes kind of strange. Actually, this is somewhat nebulous – care to elaborate?"

She broke into a grin, and Clint turned in time to see it. "Cap. He's kind of nice."

"Only three months out of the ocean – I'd say he's doing pretty well. He is nice. Old-fashioned... but –"

"He won't stop calling me 'ma'am'."

"There." Clint sat back and held the tip up to eye level, examining the tiny area where it did not join flush to the shaft. He pulled out a fine file and set to work on it, replying, "It's funny."

"Not to me."

"He's used to treating ladies differently."

"I'm not a lady," glared Natasha.

"Yeah, we know," Clint drawled. He blew the dust off the file and examined his arrow once again. "This should do." He stood up, and pulled Natasha to her feet as well. "I'm going to go out and test this."

"At three a.m.? Everyone will wonder what in the world you're doing awake at this hour." Natasha crossed her arms.

"I might ask the same of you," Clint grinned. "You wanna come?"

She shook her head, her bright red hair falling in front of her face and obscuring it from view. "I'm going to try and get some shut-eye."

"Good luck," he said, and he wasn't joking. He had shared a room with Natasha since the Budapest incident, when they decided -for both their safeties- to avoid going solo. They were partners for a reason. Natasha insisted it didn't go beyond business, but sometimes Clint wasn't so sure. She told him things she never told anyone else, and he did the same for her. Her nightmares every night and her horrible insomnia had not been lost upon him – regularly she would wake up breathing heavily, drenched in a cold sweat, psychological baggage coming back to haunt her from her experiences in the infamous Red Room, or worse. Clint would rub her back and talk to her about something random until she was calmer, and although she never said thank you, he knew she appreciated him.

He felt the same way for her. He didn't trust anyone, except her. A tumultuous, abusive childhood, coupled with circus life and constant pranks, danger, and foolery had not made him keen on letting just anyone into his heart. It happened once, with Mockingbird, but that had ended in a disaster of his own making, and he would just as soon forget. But like it or not, he couldn't. Natasha knew. And Natasha understood. Maybe that's what was so special. She truly understood what it was like to be where he was, and probably always would be.

As much as Natasha valued her friendship with Clint, she hated it when people thought there was something more to their relationship. And it seemed as if she was fated to explain it a million times a day to the team, mostly just to Stark with his constant antagonism, and Thor, with his innocent assumptions. Loki was the only one who didn't question them, but Loki actually never said much. She knew the principles of who Loki was from his past actions, and from Thor's testimonies. He was the god of manipulation, trickery, and mischief, and she knew he craved the power of the Tesseract. That was no secret – no secret to a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, that is. They needed him for his intensity, his abilities, his silver tongue, and his brilliant mind. But beyond sheer facts, she just didn't get that guy.

There he was, standing alone by the glass windows of one of the conference rooms, silently watching the nightlife of New York city go on below him. In his hand was clenched something small and slender silhouetted against the back-lighting, and without knowing why she did it, Natasha entered the conference room, and silently approached.

Loki's glance didn't waver in her direction, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"It is quite a sight, is it not." He spoke in a low voice, slipping his hand into the folds of his coat, stowing whatever it was out of sight. "I can't get used to it. I'm really quite lucky to be here, and I know it."

"Well, good," Natasha responded, sounding like an absolute wet-blanket, but not really caring. "Surprised to hear that coming from you."

"Why?" He turned and looked at her and Natasha noted for the first time the intensity of his gaze and the constant smile he seemed to be hiding somewhere between his eyes and his chin. "Do you really think I am that much of a monster?"  
"I don't really know, now, do I," she said in a patronizing tone. "I make a point of not getting into other people's business."

"'Now, I'm surprised to hear that coming from you,'" he mocked."Is it just me, or did you use to be a master spy, assassin, and double agent?"

"It's just you. I still am all those things. I just know when to pry, and when to walk away." She turned on her heel and began to stride out of the room, but suddenly he was at her elbow, a hand on her arm. His touch was cool – cold, almost, but not unpleasant.

"Let go of me," she said evenly. "Unless you really know what you are doing."

"I have no idea," Loki murmured. "But I thought you would."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Do you want something?" Natasha was beginning to be irritated. "What do you want?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Loki dropped his head, and drew a finger down the end of his nose. "Why should anyone believe me anyway."

"True. Out with it." Natasha put her hands on her hips. "Unless you'd rather just say goodnight here and call it quits. I've got nothing over you. Does it matter if I believe you or not?"

"There's nothing I want from you," he said in a low voice.

She snapped, "Don't believe you."

"Fine. I don't either."

Natasha furrowed her brow. "Quit being an idiot. You sound like Stark."

"To my knowledge I never was an idiot. I've always considered myself rather brilliant," Loki smirked. "At least that's the idea."

"Now you really sound like Stark."

Loki chuckled. "That was quite unintentional, believe me. Goodnight, Natasha." He swept past her and in a moment disappeared in the elevator, hesitating, and then pressing the button to the private chambers floor.

"Goodnight." she said in his wake, looking at the ground, and slowly unclenching her fists, hardly realizing when she had begun to clench them in the first place.

As the elevator raced up, beeping intermittently as it passed floor after floor, the beeps growing closer and closer together and then gradually slowing, Loki stood motionless with his arms folded across his chest, contemplating the interchange, and what sort of lasting effects it might have. True, she seemed to have no heart, but he knew better than that. Yes, indeed. After all, wasn't that what everyone said about him? That all he cared about was his goals – power, rulership, skill, absolute supremacy. He liked a woman with a bit of spirit. Natasha Romanov had more than a bit, but it was nothing Loki wasn't sure he could conquer being the master of magic and a first-class manipulator.

Natasha shifted her weight from foot to foot, watching the board light up above the elevator entrance, registering that it had unloaded its cargo at last and begun its descent. At least I didn't have to stand here and argue with someone like Thor or Cap to get them to shut their faces about the 'ladies first' tripe, she thought, wondering when the word "tripe" had entered her mental lexicon anyway. Probably when the Asgardians came around talking like the Knights of the Round Table. It was an improvement over Tony Stark's vocabulary at any rate.

She entered the elevator and stabbed the correct button, closing her eyes as she ascended. Bozhe moĭ, I'm tired, she thought. The moment the doors opened, she stalked out into the corridor, pass-coded her door, and entered, slamming it behind her, and flopping, fully dressed, onto the bed. Within moments, her eyes fell shut, and she was asleep.


	4. Up to No Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No one would talk much in society if they knew how often they misunderstood others."
> 
> -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

A nearly imperceptible breeze swept through the room, and Natasha stirred slightly, but merely brushed a stray wave of hair away from her face and continued to slumber. The rising and falling of her chest was even and slow, and another puff of cool air eddied among the deep red waves of her hair as the sound of quiet breathing gradually was heard.

Loki materialized with a swift movement, but only for a moment before vanishing again, his soft footfalls and careful breathing alone proclaiming his presence in the room.

He slowly approached where she lay and lifted a finger to trace the branching tiny blue veins on the underside of her pale wrist when suddenly Natasha sat bolt upright, grabbed her automatic and fired a volley of shots about the room. Loki remained motionless where he stood and shut his eyes, preparing to transport himself from the chamber, when the door emitted a click and began to open.

Now on her feet, Natasha aimed for the gradually widening crack and hissed, "Stop right there."

"Nat, it's me, Clint."

"Clint." She sighed, and lowered her gun, slipping the safety back on and stowing it under her pillow. "I thought I changed my pass-code."

"You did. What's going on? I heard shots."

"Nothing."

He sat down on the edge of her bed, and Loki stepped slowly away from the scene, leaning against the wall, secure in his invisibility, and daring to watch a moment longer, his eyes narrowed.

"Nothing." Clint flopped back, as Natasha sat next to him, staring straight ahead into the darkness. "You were shooting at nothing. Well, I can believe that. What did you think you were shooting at?" He sat up, and leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. "Nightmares?"

"You know better than to make fun of me."

"I don't know how bad they get. All I know is what I heard when we used to bunk together. And it didn't sound like something to make fun of."

"Just go back to bed, Barton," Natasha sighed, flopping back in her turn. "I thought you were out, anyway."

"Just got back. Lucky thing, too, just in case you needed me."

"How many times have I told you to stop looking out for me?"

Clint sighed. "A bunch. But it doesn't stop me from doing it. Just admit, you secretly like it."

Loki had seen enough. In a moment he opened his eyes and found himself in his own chamber, down the hall. After waving a hand before the lock mechanism to enchant it against intrusion, he paced quickly for a moment or two, and then began to hurriedly remove his outerwear for sleep. When he was down to a simple tunic he stepped out of his boots and slid into bed, a small line appearing between his brows.

You can do this, he told himself. Turning onto his side and pushing his hand up underneath his pillow, Loki shut his eyes and prepared for sleep. Amongst the various demons that plagued the god of mischief's slumbers, one reigned triumphant – a figure clad in black with hair the color of fire, blazing eyes, and some sort of weapon pointed at everyone around her... everyone but him.

In the morning Loki emerged from showering with a towel tucked about his waist and carefully parted his dark hair before the mirror, slicking it down with a comb and tucking it behind his ears. He dressed with especial care and stood a long moment staring into nothingness it seemed, but in reality he was sounding out the situation in the other rooms of Stark Tower and taking inventory of the team's various thoughts and actions. Not too bad for a Saturday morning, he thought.

Opening the door to his room, he resisted the urge to smile at his timing. Striding down the hallway ahead of him was the fearsome Black Widow herself, barefoot, clad in gray sweatpants and a black tshirt, and carrying a pair of athletic shoes.

"Up so early?" Loki said, pitching his voice just loud enough for her to hear. She turned. Without a bit of makeup on, she looked decidedly younger, but nonetheless beautiful. And still potentially fatal, Loki reminded himself.

She stood in one place and allowed him to overtake her and they made their way toward the gym together. "I might ask the same of you," she said at last.

"I never sleep late," admitted Loki, giving her a quick smile. "The sun is up, so no reason why I shouldn't be as well."

"Exactly what I think. Although I can't say I vanish when the moon rises."

"A bit nocturnal too?" Loki cocked a brow and received a brief smile for his efforts.

"More than a bit. I generally run on about four hours of sleep."

Loki shook his head. "Well, you beat me, then. And Thor thinks I am the crazy one."

"We're all crazy here," Natasha said, pushing open the glass door to the workout room, and holding it open for Loki to follow. "Coming in?"

"I don't mind," Loki said, ducking under her arm and catching a whiff of the scent of her soap – a foreign unnameable smell, that carried with it connotations of winter, burning sun, and cleanliness.

"Well, you'd better get to work, then. You can be here, and we can chat, but I hate people just standing around talking to me and watching me work out," Natasha said curtly.

"Oh, well I didn't really dress for –"

"Then go do what you did dress for. I'll be done in an hour and a half if you want breakfast. I've got a couple of questions for you anyway."

"Indeed?" Loki's eyebrows lifted. "Might I ask to what they pertain?"

"You can ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Natasha replied, finishing taping her hands and aiming a few solid hits at the punching bag.

Loki shook his head and retreated, saying, "I actually need to talk to Thor."

The door swung shut behind him, and Natasha stopped her warm up long enough to watch him go, but the moment he looked back over his shoulder, she commenced her vicious sparring and did not stop until she had counted a hundred hits. She wasn't surprised when she looked up and saw that he was gone.

Thor laughed loudly as he read the tiny note taped to the toaster lettered in Pepper's tidy writing. Although she had Steve in mind when she made all the instructions on how to operate the kitchen appliances, Thor used them as well, although he always laughed at how detailed they were. This one read:

1\. Bread is in the fridge. Make sure to seal the bag tightly when you're done.

2\. Fill all four slots. Really. Don't run it with just one or two.

3\. The screen on the left of the toaster (lever side) determines done-ness. Use the arrow buttons to select 1, 2, or 3.

4\. Select TOAST (the green button) and press the lever down until it clicks.

5\. If you need your toast to pop up for some reason before it is done, push the red button with the X on it. Don't pull up on the lever, it will break (Tony tried it).

6\. Remove your toast with your hands or a wooden implement (top drawer on the right next to the fridge). Do not use a knife! Classic, but I thought I'd say it just in case. Thor could probably take the lightning, but I wouldn't try it, Captain.

7\. Enjoy!

"Lady Pepper is truly a most organized woman," he chuckled, turning when someone cleared their throat softly. Loki had entered the kitchen and lingered in the doorway like an unwelcome street urchin.

"Good morning, brother." Thor greeted, grinning, and turning back to his breakfast preparations. "How did you sleep?"

"Really, I don't know why you always ask that when you know the answer very well," Loki returned, striding across the room, and folding his hands behind his back as he looked out the window.

"Suit yourself then. Who else is awake?"

"I saw Lady Natasha training a moment ago, but I didn't encounter anyone else."

Thor noticed that he said whom he encountered, not who was awake, but he didn't push it. His brother's powers were his own concern. "Does she let you call her Lady Natasha?" Thor inquired, layering his four pieces of toast with peanut butter and building a structure impressive-enough to rival Stark Tower.

"I haven't actually called her that to her face," Loki admitted, helping himself to a piece of fruit, and then returning to the window, declining Thor's gesture for him to be seated and partake with him.

"The Midgardian's food is strange, but very delicious," Thor commented, asking, "Did I ever tell you the story of the drink that I once –"

"About Lady Natasha," Loki interrupted.

Thor swallowed, and nodded. "Something concerns you?"

Loki scoffed. "She said she has questions for me. I wonder what that means. Do you think she suspects me of trying to steal the cube like everyone else does?"

"If she did, I should not be surprised. 'Tis no secret why you're here, you know."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might resent everyone always thinking I am up to no good? Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I might be here for?" Loki hissed, turning, and advancing on his brother. "Oh no, it's always 'Loki is up to his mischief again,' and 'Loki can't be trusted because once he made a mistake!" He slammed his hand down onto the tabletop, making Thor's breakfast jump, and his brother look at him evenly, replying:

"You may deceive others, but you can't deceive me." He would have continued, but Loki cut him off.

"Oh yes? And what makes you say that, pray?"

"There have been times when I have been mistaken, brother, but–"

"And there have been times when I have been mistaken!" Loki nearly screamed. His eyes blazing, he locked his gaze on Thor and whispered, "And I'm not your brother."

"I love you like a brother. I think of you as a –"

"That doesn't make it true!" Loki spat. "One day, you'll just have to face the facts, half-brother."

Thor's eyes gleamed ice blue. "You are in a foul temper this morning, Loki. Did you really have something you needed with me, or have you just come to spoil my meal?"

Loki emitted an enraged sound from deep in his throat and wheeled, stalking out of the room, calling over his shoulder "No, I just come around to spoil everything! That's what I'm here for, it is not?"

Thor sighed, and finished his food in silence, the room uncomfortably still, and ringing with Loki's words. He knew that it might not be him, but he wished there was someone who could understand Loki besides Frigga. His mother had always been his only confidante, his anchor, his solace, and his guidance. Thor had taken more to his father. But still... He may not trust him, but everyone ought be given a chance to explain himself, Thor the middle of his reverie, Steve Rogers entered the room.

"Morning, Thor," he said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice, and sitting down opposite the Asgardian.

Steve looked as if he had just come from training, clad in a sweaty t-shirt and loose-fitting gym pants. He took a drink of the juice and inhaled a deep breath.

"That's good," he said, grinning, and setting it on a paper napkin. "Something the matter?"

"My brother is in a foul mood this morning." Thor rose and deposited his plate in the sink.

"Is that unusual?" Steve asked with a sideways quirk of his mouth.

His back to Steve, Thor braced a hand on either side of the counter and leaned forward, allowing his head to droop for a brief moment. Then he straightened, pushing his light hair out of his face.

"No, it's not unusual," he replied.

"What's not unusual?" Steve turned, and knew the morning had officially begun. Tony padded into the kitchen in a bathrobe, reeking of cologne, his thick hair mussed wildly.

He helped himself to a cup of piping hot coffee, took a gulp and said, "Pepper's taking the day off, so we're going about on the town. Anyone wanna come?"

"It's Saturday – aren't most people usually off-work?" Steve asked, folding his arms. "Hi, Bruce," he greeted, as the doctor entered.

"Good morning. Am I interrupting something?" Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Pep's hardly ever off-work," Tony began, only to be cut off by Clint, who strode into the room, behind Bruce, muttering, "That's because you're hardly ever on."

"Hey." Tony pointed a finger in the archer's direction. "You're the one who stands the most to benefit from this, anyway, Robin Hood."

Steve repressed a smile, and failing, covered his hand with his mouth.

"Why, what would I benefit from Pepper being off work?" Clint asked, pouring milk over a bowl of cereal, and stabbing in a spoon.

"The Tower is going to be free of press, security, and other boring things for twenty-four hours. All the stuff that has to be in place while work is going on. And you're the one who keeps setting off that alarm I'm beginning to wish I never had installed by going up to sleep on the roof, so –"

"Clint, you've been sleeping on the roof again?" Pepper Potts entered the room, dressed in a casual yet stylish outfit, her hair out of her way in a clip at the back of her head. "Why has that started again?"

"Sleep better up there," he muttered, taking a bite of his cereal, and shrugging. "Don't worry about it. You're the one leaving blankets, right?"

Pepper shook her head. "No, I'm the one telling you to stop being such a recluse and try to live a normal life in this nut house."

Clint blinked. Natasha. Now he really felt stupid. He'd have to call her on that one, give her the time of her life about that "stop taking care of me" line. He finished his cereal in record time as Tony expounded on his plans for the day, and began to hurriedly wash up the dishes.

"Just leave those," Pepper began, but Clint shrugged. "I don't mind. Well, I'll go with you two if I'm not going to spoil anything... er..." He rolled his eyes and pretended to grope for the word while Tony scowled.

"-Of course not."

Pepper jumped in. "Steve? Bruce? Thor?"

"Sure, I'll go."

"Why not."

"I shall as well."

"Great. Steve, will you go ask Natasha and Loki if they're busy?"

"Ooh, that came out wrong," Tony heckled, and Clint and Thor glared simultaneously.

"Have we told you to keep your opinions to yourself?" Clint asked, slamming the cupboard door closed on the clean dishes and making Pepper jump. "You make everything a joke."

"I'll stay out of this one," Steve said, rising, and excusing himself. "I'll go find Miss Natasha and Loki."

Thor exited with him, leaving Pepper to scold Stark in private, and Clint to pop him hard with the dishrag with where he knew it would hurt. His aim didn't fail.

"Ow! Pepper!" Tony yelped. "Not fair!"

"You boys play nice," Pepper remonstrated, and suddenly pulled out her phone as it began to chirp. "Hello, Phil. Yes. Oh – no, I didn't, let me..."

"Pep! Day off!" Tony mouthed. Pepper nodded and held up a finger, listening to the voice at the other end of the phone, and then pushed past Clint to grab the notepad and pencil on the counter.

"Mhmm... mhmmm. Alright, I''ll see what I can do. Do you want me to put him on the phone now?"

Tony was shaking his head violently, drawing his finger across his neck in a repetitive motion, and finally put the dishrag over his head and groaned as Pepper handed him the phone. Covering the mouthpiece, he whispered, "Remember, I hate being handed things?"

"You'll be fine." She leaned over and kissed him quickly, before the leaving the room.


	5. Warming His Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "These violent delights have violent ends
> 
> And in their triumph die, like fire and powder
> 
> Which, as they kiss, consume."
> 
> -William Shakespeare

The team headed out shortly, Natasha declining the invitation because she really did not feel like being social. Loki was nowhere to be found – even JARVIS couldn't locate him.

"I cannot detect his presence anywhere in Stark Tower, sir," the AI system's voice reported.

"Aha." Tony shook a finger. "Very accurate. 'Can't detect his presence'. Well, the wonderful Wizard of Oz is going have to make his appearance sometime. Really. Now why would you want to be invisible? Then nobody could see you..." His voice trailed as he entered the elevator and the doors shut.

Loki and Natasha passed and repassed each other all day going about their business, but neither said much more than a few words, and although the team returned that evening, ignoring Tony's protestations that they were going to miss the nightlife of the city, neither joined them, Natasha retiring to her room early to read and Loki again going missing.

As she passed the lounge, overhearing Banner and Tony in a heated debate about something going on in the lab, Natasha made a point of avoiding eye contact with Clint who was watching her, and heading straight to her room.

Shutting the door behind her, Natasha gasped and whipped out the stiletto she always kept in a secret place as there was a flash, and Loki appeared before her. As the lights faded, he chuckled, and gestured toward the knife.

"A little jumpy, are we?"

"You'd better not try that again unless you know what you're up against," she muttered, turning around, and replacing it carefully so it couldn't even be detected under her clothes.

"I do apologize." He lifted both hands suppliantly. "It probably was a bit of a scare."

Natasha didn't answer, but went to her drawer and began to rummage for something, leaving Loki to pace around the room and finally seat himself on the end of the bed.

"Do you want something?" Natasha asked, not looking up from her search. Loki heard the slight edge to her voice, and gauged his words carefully.

"Not particularly, just to chat," he said at last.

"So you do want something." Natasha sighed. "I guess it's just lost, then."

"What are you looking for?" Loki rose, and looked over her shoulder.

"A box. A little white box with vines carved all over it." Loki's brows lifted. Natasha set her jaw.

"I keep tear gas pellets in there," she growled.

"And you want to use tear gas on me?"

"No, it's just time to replenish my stock," she returned. Suddenly, Loki held out his hand, and with a small flash of light the box appeared in his hand. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

"Thief –" she began, but he invited her with a gesture to take it from him. She reached out, and her hand passed right through the illusion, making it vanish. Loki laughed, and then rubbed a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"A bit of fun."

"It's fine," she repeated. "I'll find it later. I'm actually glad you're here. I need to talk with you."

She went over to the window and opened it so that the air would circulate more freely through the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed, beckoning for him to do the same. "I have been wondering a few things about you recently. You're the only guy around here nobody gets. I mean, you're so secretive and out of sorts all the time."

"And what is it you Midgardians say?" Loki asked in surprise. "That the pot is calling the kettle black?"

Natasha nodded. "Something like that. Yeah, I know. But everyone know why I am the way I am."

"Why are you the way you are?" Loki asked in a quiet tone.

"We're here to talk about you," Natasha said evenly. "I want to know what makes you tick."

"Oh, goodness." Loki put his arms behind him and leaned back. "What makes me tick..."

"You know what I mean."

Loki sat up, and met Natasha's eyes, a strange mix of emotions blending in his gaze which Natasha met without blinking. "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."

"What I mean is," he exhaled through his nose. "Has someone put you up to this?"

"Do you really think that anyone would put me up to something I don't want to do? I don't know about you, but that's not generally a good idea if you value your health and wholeness."

Loki chuckled, and to his surprise, Natasha joined in. "You know, you are one of the few people for whom I hold any sort of admiration."

Now, Natasha had opened her mouth to say something scornful because she hated flattery, but on second though, rerouted it to, "Any sort? Oh, thanks, I am 'some sort' of admirable."

"Exactly. " He grinned.

"What kind of admirable?" She cocked her head playfully – this was a side of Natasha so far only Clint was allowed to see. But there was something in the manner of this twisted misunderstood individual that reminded her of herself, and the least she could do was reward his efforts with decency.

"I'm not sure what kind," he admitted, "But I have a feeling it is whatever kind I hope to be."

Natasha had no good reply for this one, so she changed the subject. "So you and Thor are brothers. You're nothing alike."

"We're not, actually," Loki said in a low voice. "All my life I was raised believing a lie. Everything I ever thought was not true, and when the rug was pulled out from under me, I didn't know where to stand except on my trickery and mischief. Even my mother, who I always thought the world of... I never talk about this to anyone. Not even Thor."

"You're lucky to have a mother," Natasha remarked. Loki looked up quickly, his eyes wet. "Sometimes I wish that I didn't. I esteemed her so highly, and now she is fallen in my eyes."

"What did she do?"

"She bore me."

"She's your mother." Natasha wasn't getting it.

"At first I was told Odin and Frigga were my parents. There was no reason why I should think otherwise. When I was grown, I realized the truth while in Jotunheim – another realm," he explained, seeing Natasha blank look. "I demanded that Odin tell me the whole story so he gave me this tale of rescuing a frost-giant baby from the Jotun Temple after the battle. As if that made any sense. He was knee-deep in Jotun blood, why would he rescue a child? Laufey's son? That's what he told me. If I was Laufey's son, I am a Frost Giant. But why am I not giant?" He was breathing hard, his eyes alight. Natasha listened in silence. Loki dropped his voice and his gaze.

"My mother told me the rest. There was a time when she and Odin were struggling in their love. She found comfort in the arms of – of... he choked. Natasha put a hand on top of his without realizing she did it. Loki swallowed, and whispered, "The enemy. Laufey. They had an affair... and I was born. Laufey took the child, but was ashamed of his small size – Asgardians are large to Midgardians, but not to Jotuns. The battle was about me. Frigga – my dear mother, the goddess of purity, faithfulness, and nurturing... behaved like a common whore." Loki's jaw was clenched. "Odin found out, and blamed Laufey, invading Jotunheim, and reclaiming me. He declared me his own son, out of love and in seeking to reconcile with his wife. But it wasn't true. I am a lie," he spat. "A b– "

"Alright, then," Natasha interrupted, giving his hand a squeeze which was not lost upon Loki. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, heaving a sigh. Lifting his face, he said, "I'm truly sorry. But you did ask."

"Yes, I did," Natasha said.

"I suppose I'm just looking for power, and for some reason to exist... Isn't everyone?" Loki felt a little twinge at this – what he actually meant was Aren't you too?

"I don't know about everyone," she said, shaking her hair out of her face, and repositioning herself on the bed so she could cross her legs. "But I think I know what you mean."

"Do you?"

"I told you, I don't say stuff I don't mean."

Loki focused on her hand and tentatively drew a pale slender finger across her knuckles. Her gaze locked on him, so he covered her hand with his politely instead. "Tell me of you. You forget I am not exactly the social type that is in on all the secrets of this group. All I know is what you've told me – once before."

"You really think bringing that up now is a good idea?" She stared at him.

He hesitated, and then firmly shook his head, his dark hair falling in front of his ears, a smile lighting up his face, and bringing out his distinctive chuckle. "You won."

"I know. I'm surprised you brought it up."

"Can't stand losing? I've got a bit of that too."

"A bit." Natasha snorted. "I'd say. From what we've seen, and from what Thor says."

"Thor isn't exactly a liar, not like –"

"You?"

Loki froze. Natasha looked at her lap, her eyelashes dark against her pale face in the dimly-lit room. "Sorry," she muttered, withdrawing her hand.

Loki crossed his arms over his torso and took a deep breath. "You think I'm a liar?"

"Aren't you?" Her voice was soft. There was a long pause, and finally his voice came, faint on the shadows.

"Yes." There was another silence, and he finished, "But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of speaking a true word. Or of trying to be honest. It just doesn't come naturally to me. Or I've trained the tendencies out with disuse."

"That makes sense," she replied quietly. "The Red Room conditioned all thoughts of mercy, reprieve, or remorse out of me. But that doesn't mean the feelings don't sometimes resurface anyway." She swallowed. "But it's hard."

In the darkness his hand searched for hers, and accidentally brushed against something else. He felt her stiffen, and he knew his own face had grown still. At last he located her hand, and gave it a brief caress with his lips. Neither said anything for a long moment. At last, Natasha broke the silence.

"Gosh."

Loki chuckled. "What a profound remark, Ms. Romanov."

"No – I meant I completely forgot the other thing I was going to ask you." She gave his hand a squeeze – Loki realized, somehow not surprised, how strong her hands actually were. He chuckled, giving her hand a return squeeze. "Do you think my hands are cold?"

She considered for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah. But it's not too bad."

"I always thought it made people uncomfortable. It's my Jotun blood speaking there."

"Do you ever get hot?"

"I feel the heat more keenly, perhaps, but you mean hot to the touch?"

"Yes."

"Well..." he drew the word out, and gave her a smile in the darkness, drawing his face close to her ear. She remained motionless as he whispered. "I know a way."

Suddenly there was a noise from without. Natasha started, and reached for her weapons, turning on the bed and kneeling, one knee up, her back to Loki. He looked at his lap, a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. He twitched his fingers almost imperceptibly, and the sound of footsteps faded off down the hallway. Black Widow relaxed and set aside her firearm.

"You never rest, do you," Loki said almost inaudibly, reaching out a unsettled hand and letting it alight on her shoulder. She let him run his cool hand down the length of first one arm, and then the other. Slowly, he lowered his lips to touch the skin on the side of her neck as his arms crept around her waist.

"I hope you know what you're getting us into," she murmured, leaning back into him, and intertwining her fingers into the long straight locks of his hair. "Everyone thinks I have no heart."

"Not I. And you actually know I'm not a monster."

Natasha turned in his arms and shook her head, her mouth inches from his. "I don't know about that. But I don't really care."

Loki closed his eyes as garments were shed and let the feelings of bliss flow over him – as his desires were fulfilled, his dreams were realized, and his errors were kissed into everlasting forgetfulness.


	6. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick,
> 
> Ay, and forswore himself- which Jesu pardon!-
> 
> [..] To fight on Edward's party for he crown;
> 
> And for his meed, poor lord, he is mewed up.
> 
> I would to God my heart were flint like Edward's,
> 
> Or Edward's soft and pitiful like mine.
> 
> I am too childish-foolish for this world."
> 
> -Richard III

Natasha woke early, her arms entwined about thin air. Loki must have vanished sometime in the night. But wait... there was a small note fluttering in the breeze of the open window. She grabbed a leopard-print towel that was draped over a chair and wound it around herself, approaching, and picking it up.

Apologies for the lack of farewells. It was wonderful. Now I know I have someone who can completely understand my need for the Tesseract, and can help me claim it. I will return soon.

She furrowed her brow, the morning light glancing around the room giving it an entirely different aspect than last night, and slowly bringing her thoughts into more focused clarity. Her first thought was No. No, no, no... Stupid Natasha, all he wanted was someone to help him in his dastardly schemes. He doesn't love you. But then his words came back to her. Words she overheard him shouting at Thor: "Did it ever occur to you that I might resent everyone always thinking I am up to no good? Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I might be here for? Oh no, it's always 'Loki is up to his mischief again,' and 'Loki can't be trusted because once he made a mistake!" He may be the god of trickery, but could she deny the reality of feelings she understood because she felt them herself?

Her mind was such a tumult of feelings, emotions, and half-finished thoughts that she decided to simply figure it out later. She wasted no time in her normal training routine, enjoying the simplicity of executing techniques and fight moves she had practiced and utilized for years, and then jumped into a cold shower. As Natasha stood in the spray, letting the chilly water cascade over her face and body, she tried not to let it remind her of his cool touch. Her scalp tingling after a brisk scrub, she emerged feeling refreshed, and hungry.

Natasha closed the door to her room, unable to explain the sudden hope she had that she would not encounter Loki on her way to the 'family' kitchen. But for some reason, the person she did encounter seemed infinitely worse.

"Morning, Tash," Clint greeted as she stepped into the the room. Natasha froze, then turned on her heel and abruptly walked away. Clint raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with Bruce, who was standing nearby.

"Any ideas?"

"None."

Clint knew better than to chase after her and ask what was the matter, but a moment later, he let himself out onto the Stark's landing platform, and saw Natasha leaning on the railing, and looking out over the city. He approached and stood beside her, leaning his forearms on the railing as well, and looking down, waiting for her to open the conversation first. He didn't have to wait long.

"I can see why you like to come out here."

Clint nodded. "Fresh air. Good view. Peace and quiet. Yeah, it's my kind of thing." There was a long pause, and then he asked, "What's wrong?"

Natasha turned on him. "Did I say anything was wrong?" she snapped. Clint was used to Natasha's general hostility, and knew she usually didn't mean it as badly as she sounded, but this time he was genuinely shocked at her venomous tone of voice.

"Okay, I – uh – sorry..." he retreated. "Never mind." He looked down to where, far below them, the weekend traffic of N.Y.C. was in full swing. Natasha buried her head in her arms for a brief moment, and then lifted her face, her hair rumpled. Clint moved to smooth it for her, something she generally didn't mind as long as they were alone, but she recoiled from his touch.

"Just knock it off, Barton," she mumbled. "I'd like to be left alone."

"'Kay. I understand that."

"That means go."

A bit hurt, the marksman turned to face her. "Nat, I thought I didn't count."

"You do today." There was a silence, and suddenly there flashed into his mind the memory of the day he awoke in the infirmary of the helicarrier, Natasha by his side, only to face the results of his horrible crimes when he was under Loki's power. He spoke her name softly as he had done then. A single, simple word:

"Natasha."

That was it. She broke – the strong, battle-hardened, invincible assassin – and buried her face in his chest. He held her in silence, like so many other times, and let her shake – she did not cry – and stroked her hair away from her face, almost imperceptibly rocking from foot to foot.

"Hey, it can't be that bad," he murmured, expecting her reply, which she fired from beneath the mass of her tumbled hair against him.

"Well, it is."

He smiled. "You wanna tell me?"

She pulled back and stood motionless, letting him brush the stray pieces of hair out of her face and watch them play in the slight wind that had arisen. "I guess I'd better, since it's gonna be a national security threat."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "A national security threat?"

"I've been compromised."

Clint folded his arms, taking a deep breath. "Oh. And you think the work just can't get on without you–"

"Cut the small-talk, Barton. This is serious."

"Okay, then. Care to elaborate?"

Natasha took a deep breath, and then said in a flat voice, "I fell for Loki."

Clint rocked up on his toes, and then back down again. "What does that mean?"

"We exchanged secure information – in bed – last night."

That hit Barton like a tone of bricks. He was aware of her personal details – she told him she had been sterilized by the Red Room, and likely subsequent injuries and chemical exposure had completed the job just in in case, but she never had expressed any interest in a physical relationship of any kind with anybody. And if she had, well then Clint always assumed... He realized this was probably written all over his face and tried not to look stupid.

"O-okay, then, well... What do we do?"

"Where is he?"

"Haven't seen him this morning," Clint said, and started to chase after Natasha as she cursed under her breath and stalked back toward the door. He caught her arm and she turned on him, her eyes blazing.

"If he's gone, then we're really in for it. The Tesseract. Contact Director Fury right away – and..." she closed her eyes. "We need to call a conference. I need to tell them everything."

A knock came on the door of Thor's room that night, and he called "Enter!" and broke off in his furious pacing. It turned out he was the last person who had seen or spoken to Loki since the "fonduing" as Tony insisted on referring to it, much to Steve's annoyance, as Loki had materialized in Thor's room early that morning and informed him that he was returning to Asgard on urgent business. What that urgent business was Thor had no idea, but he and Steve were united in outrage at how his brother had infiltrated Natasha's careful guard and compromised her security. It was beyond Steve how anyone could treat a lady that way, and Thor was enraged that his trust in Loki had been shattered yet again.

"Enter!" he shouted again, and then realized that he had to unlock the door himself on account of the pass-code. Pressing the correct combination after cheating from a small string of numbers inked on the underside of his wrist, he swung it open to reveal Bruce standing in the corridor with a perturbed look on his face.

"Good evening, come in," Thor said.

"Thank you." Bruce entered the room, and shut the door quietly behind him. "Sorry to disturb you – were you busy?"

"Not particularly. I was just pacing and working myself into a rage over things. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah. I'd better not do that," the doctor said wryly. "Anyway, I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"Certainly." Thor beckoned for him to have a seat on a large carved wooden chair that looked strangely out of place in the hotel-room-like chamber, and poured him a large tumbler of Norse mead. Bruce shook his head.

"Not for me, thank you."

Thor nodded and took the cup himself, downing a large amount of it, and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Well?"

"I've been down in the lab," Bruce began, looking at his lap as he spoke, "Analyzing what results I could. I was talking to Agent Romanov and we agreed it is very unlikely that she would have behaved in such a way without some sort of artificial incentive."

"Artificial incentive? Explain," Thor said, furrowing his brow. "You have a great mind and know many scholarly things, but I'm afraid my knowledge is more in the line of battle."

"I mean something he could have given her like a poison, a drug, or something."

Thor shook his head. "Magic. Loki is a master in all sorts of mind control. No substance was needed, that I can almost assure you."

"We discussed that." Bruce pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on, pulling out a tablet that contained some lab results and portions of cell diagrams. "But we thought we should check just in case. And technically, when we took the blood samples... it had occurred recently enough to extract parts of his DNA to analyze as well."

Thor nodded, his mind slowly grasping the far-reaching abilities of science. Bruce continued, "I'm examining the samples separately to determine if there was any foul play. It's difficult work. Both sets of DNA are so altered from most examples that I've studied – Agent Romanov from her past conditioning, injections, and alterations, and Loki because... I suppose because he's Asgardian, not a human. What I'm wondering is if you could provide me with a sample of your blood – a normal Asgardian's- to analyze alongside his. That would make this all a whole lot easier for me."

"I would gladly give all of my blood to help a friend," Thor smiled, replenishing his cup. "This will prove most interesting."

"Well, I don't need all your blood, just a little," Bruce smiled, a welcome feeling after hunching over microscopes and centrifuges in the lab for hours, his face alternately growing stiff and slack.

"Very well. But I must tell you Loki is not Asgardian. He is adopted – of Jotun descent. If our bloods are not too similar, do not be surprised."

Bruce nodded. "Alright. It's worth a try though."

"Should we proceed down to the lab?" Thor asked, rising, and preparing to do his part.

"Actually, I brought everything I'd need with me, if you don't mind."

Bruce opened his briefcase and produced the necessary supplies. After sterilizing the needle with alcohol, he cleaned a small patch of skin on the inside of Thor's elbow, suppressing a grin as Thor looked in with obvious interest.

"I'll need you to make a firm fist for me," Bruce said after knotting a strip of medical tape around Thor's upper arm to restrict the blood flow. Thor did as was instructed and the veins bulged to the surface of his pale skin.

"Okay, maybe not that firm. I don't want to make a mess here."

Thor complied, and Bruce said, "Here goes," and inserted the needle easily into the blue vein. Crimson blood spiraled through the thin tube and rapidly filled the vial which Bruce held.

"That's it." Holding a piece of sterile cotton firmly to the spot, Bruce quickly removed the needle and taped the cotton in place, untying the medical tape, and giving Thor a brief smile. He put the needle and tube in a small bag brought for the purpose, and put the vial of blood carefully away after labeling it THOR, and the date.

"Thank you, I'd better go and begin to spin this stuff," he said. Thor didn't understand the second half of his remark, but he nodded, and asked, "How long until I can remove this bandage?"

"Anytime, really. It shouldn't bleed much, and the vein will repair itself in a matter of minutes. Thanks, and goodnight, Thor."

"Goodnight, Bruce," he returned, and the doctor closed the door behind him, rubbing a hand over his face. It was going to be a long night.


	7. Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief."
> 
> -Francis Bacon

Bruce jerked awake and groaned softly, wondering how long he had been asleep. He glanced at the clock – it read 5:21. The screens had all automatically dimmed, and Bruce cleared his throat and spoke to the AI.

"JARVIS, could you turn on the systems and get them up to speed?" He rubbed a hand over his face. "I need to review this data really quickly."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS responded, and the screens flickered on, bringing Bruce back to the microworld in which he was immersed when he must have finally crashed. He sighed, and for the tenth time, viewed the results. Bruce had to admit he was a little intimidated at the data that had emerged from his simple blood samples.

"JARVIS," he said, rising from his rolling stool, and giving it a gentle push across the lab floor, "-tell me who is awake right now. Anyone?"

"Mr. Stark is, although Ms. Potts is not yet awake. Thor, Captain Rogers, and Agent Romanov are asleep and Agent Barton's signal is coming from the roof, but it is not clear what he is doing up there."

"Thank you," Bruce said, a little distractedly, running his hands through his thick brown hair, and ignoring the overwhelmed feelings that he was beginning to realize were the same as those that he felt when they were thawing and reviving a man who had been frozen in the North Atlantic sea for seventy years.

This kind of stress is not what you need, old man, he told himself. "JARVIS, please let me know when Agent Romanov is awake. Don't tell her that I need anything, just let me know."

"Understood," the automatic voice confirmed. Bruce exited the lab, wondering subconsciously what on earth would happen if Tony were to waltz in there for any reason and see the blood tests. As annoying and immature as Tony could be, he was smart. Genius, actually, and he didn't have to be a medical doctor, having mastered thermonuclear astrophysics overnight (unless that was just a joke, which Banner didn't happen to believe it was) to see what Banner saw. He'd worked in the lab with Tony. And if he could just get over his obsession with freeze-dried space food any time he was in the air and stop making off-color comments at awkward moments, Bruce might actually have liked him quite a bit. Correction: Bruce still did like him quite a bit. They had immense mutual respect for each others work, and privately enjoyed being referred to as the mad scientists or the Science Bros.

"Doctor Banner, you wished me to notify you that Agent Romanov is now awake," the trim British accent of the AI announced.

"Great. Where is she now?"

"She is in her room, sir."

"Thanks, JARVIS. Please let her know that I need to speak with her privately before she moves on with her day."

"Right away, sir," JARVIS replied. Bruce entered the elevator and pressed the correct button, feeling the lift drop farther down the tower with each passing second. It slowed and came to a stop, the doors opening with a ding.

Bruce stepped out of the elevator, the doors closing behind him, and crossed his arms across his chest, looking at the ground for a moment while he collected himself. Though Agent Romanov had already seen his worst side in a private showing, he still felt bad being the one to witness her so vulnerable. But it had to be done.

Natasha heard the prompts of JARVIS, and was at her door, stepping out into the hallway, and greeting Banner.

"Hello, Bruce," she said. "Bright and early, huh."

"Yeah," he grimaced. "I slept a little though."

"What's going on?" She pursed her mouth and and crossed her arms. "Get my blood sorted out?"

"Kinda," he replied awkwardly, and then gestured, "Let's step into your room, Natasha."

Beginning to be worried by his manner, Natasha did so, and shut the door behind him.

"Do you want to sit down –" she began, but Bruce passed a hand over his face and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm fine, but you'd better sit."

"Bruce, what are you talking about –" she demanded. "You're scaring me to death. What did you find out? Was he drugged or something? Was I drugged?"

Bruce decided to get it over with, a pained expression on his face. "Natasha –" he met her eyes, and laced his fingers together. "A lot of different stuff showed up in your blood work. Some normal stuff, but mostly stuff I'd never seen before. You've gotta realize this is not my area of expertise. I'm a gamma radiation geek, not an OBGYN."

Her face grew still, and Bruce realized he'd blown it, just like with Steve. He shut his eyes. "Natasha – you're pregnant."

She froze for a moment, and then sat down hard on the bed. There was a long period of silence, and then denial set in. "What?" she breathed. "No... no. No, no, no! That is not even possible, Bruce, I was sterilized in Russia." Her eyes were wild. " I've had so many blows and stabs to the stomach who knows if I can even – no! That's impossible, you're wrong. You made a mistake –"

Bruce was shaking his head. "It's absolutely positive," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Natasha sat in silence, her brain numbly groping to understand why it was so important that she come up with an excuse to prove him wrong. He must be wrong.

"How can you even tell? It just happened, give it a freakin' break to get out of my system before you go making assumptions like that... You said yourself this is not your area of expertise– "

"Natasha." Bruce bent over her, his eyes meeting hers. "Do you want me to take it down to the lab and show it to you and explain it all?" She shut her eyes and shook her head. "Listen, I'm sorry this had to happen to you." A tiny tear seeped out from beneath her lashes and dripped quickly down her cheek, and Bruce's heart ached for her. "I don't know what to suggest except to contact Director Fury and update him so he can send you undercover for a while."

"Undercover?" she managed, opening her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, and Bruce didn't like that one bit. He poured her a cup of water, but she pushed it away.

"Really," he said, trying to put it into her hand, but she said weakly, "You want a broken wrist, Bruce? Didn't think so."

He sighed and set the cup on the top of the dresser. "I can contact him if you want."

"I can do it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He sat next to her on the bed for a long time, and just let her stare off into space and come to terms with the ground-shaking information he just dumped on her.

At last she murmured, "I don't have to go undercover. I'll just terminate it."

Bruce shook his head. "Don't try to figure everything out before I leave the room. It doesn't work out well if you try that, I promise. You know where to find me if you need anything – right now I bet you want to be alone for a bit."

"Sure," she whispered, and without another word, Bruce quietly left the room.


	8. Black Widow Undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is no disguise which can hide love for long where it exists, or simulate it where it is not."
> 
> -Francis de la Rochefoucauld

After a moment, Natasha spoke, for once not caring what the AI thought.

"JARVIS, where is Barton?"

"He is just coming in from the rooftop, Ms. Romanov."

"How many times have I told you? Tell Stark to reprogram you to call me Agent Romanov..." Natasha rolled her eyes. "You sound like Steve."

"My records indicate you have given me that command seventeen times, and it has been relayed to Mr. Stark fifteen of those times. The remaining two remain undelivered because at the moment of delivery he put me on mute," JARVIS returned. "I will remind him again, Agent Romanov."

"At least he made you intuitive," Natasha sighed. "But not intuitive enough. Tell Clint that I need him here, now. Not over the intercom, in his earpiece. Got that?"

"Yes, Ms. Romanov. He is on his way."

Natasha rose and took a brief glance in the mirror, not knowing why she did that. She looked absolutely normal, and that was a big relief. She never felt less normal in her life. Momentarily, there was a click and the door opened.

"Hey, Barton," she greeted, sounding cool and casual. She ground her teeth.

"Hey, Tasha. JARVIS told me to get up here now. Something wrong?"

"Well... yeah, I suppose."

"What is it?" Clint had been out training. He removed his favorite eye protection and hooked it over the neck of his shirt, still wearing his bracer and shooting glove. He sat down on the edge of the bed made a move to put his arm around her, but she stopped him.

"I don't think so. You're all sweaty."

"Yeah." Barton rose, and crossed his arms, standing before her. "So what is it? Lab results less than desirable?"

She nodded. "Bruce says that – that I'm pregnant." She pronounced the word like a foreign concept to her, and made it almost sound like a curse. Like a kid who heard some profanity, and was trying it out for the first time to test its effect on people.

It certainly had an effect on Clint. His eyes widened. "What?" He stared at her. "Pregnant? But Tash, I thought you –"

"I know, I know," she said in annoyance. "So what. Apparently it's not true."

"Wait, wait, wait, yeah, but –"

"But what?"

"W-what are you gonna do?"

"That's what I wanted you in here for, to ask your opinion."

"I thought you were mad at me."

"If anything, you should be about ready to kill me. I'd deserve it," she said bitterly, casting herself scornfully back on the bed. her hand falling across her abdomen. Immediately she tore it away like the area harbored the plague.

Clint sat down slowly in the chair and took a deep breath. "You really should prepare a guy for something like that, you know," he managed at last.

"What, you gonna faint?" she murmured from the bed.

"H-how do you feel?" Clint stammered.

"Shut up!" Natasha glared daggers at him, and then fell back on the bed. "I'm going to terminate it."

Clint's mind was in a whirl. Terminate... "Wait, what?" he shook his head. "Terminate it? Why?"

"Sometimes you surprise me, Barton," Natasha exclaimed, sitting up and crossing her legs. "Why? Do I look like the candidate for the next newspaper scandal? Do I look like prime motherhood material? Do I look eager to carry his demon spawn inside me for nine months? Do I have a job that's good for raising a kid? Do I have a husband? A guy even, whose remotely interested in this?"

"There's me," Clint said, almost voicelessly. He didn't know if Natasha heard him. She ranted on.

"This is the only thing I can do – the least I can do, and the most I can do. There is no way Loki can know about this. I don't even know if I love him, anyway. He's the enemy."

Her words wrenched at Clint's heart, but he knew better. He had lived around Natasha for years and knew there wasn't a thing he could do about his feelings except what he was doing already. But this... this was getting to be a little much.

"Have you told Director Fury yet?" he asked at last, focusing on the business at hand. His feelings – as always – were last priority compared to what needed done. It was just something he'd trained himself in since his days in the traveling circus training and performing as a master marksman. Then it had been forced on him. Now he realized it was just better that way.

"Not yet," Natasha said. "I guess I'd better."

"You should ask him to review your medical file and see if he thinks it's going to be safe to terminate."  
"Why wouldn't it be?"

"All of the stuff you've been injected with in the past. It might be risky, and it might just complicate things. I'm not a doctor, but considering what you've told me -"

Natasha groaned. "Try to tell me anything's worse than having to do this."

"Maybe not worse for you," Barton said slowly. "Worse for it."

"It?"

"Yeah. It'd probably do a half-way job, considering the amount of resistance to drugs your system has built up, and that would be... just awful. Just don't try, and adopt it," Barton suggested.

Natasha clenched her jaw. "You seriously are trying to talk me into having this – this – and then just... adopting it?"

Clint lifted his hands. "Don't shoot the messenger. You'd better talk to Fury about it. Or Bruce."

"I'd rather talk to Bruce," Natasha said, sitting up and talking addressing the AI. "JARVS, see if Bruce is busy or if I can come see him in the lab."

There was a pause, and Natasha was about to rephrase her request for clarity when the voice replied, "Very well, Agent Romanov. Doctor Banner says you should come right up."

Natasha rose, and quickly crossed the room, turning at the door.

"You going to stay here?"

"No." He stood and crossed the room, leaning his hand on the door frame, and waiting for her to exit first. "I've got some stuff I need to discuss with Tony."

Suddenly a flash of pain shot up Clint's arm as Natasha grabbed him and twisted hard, bringing her face close to his.

"Not a word, or my next mission is solo." Her eyes were gleaming.

"Really. Sometimes you insult me," Clint muttered, wincing as she released him. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She held his eyes for a long moment, and then wheeled, striding down the corridor, and disappearing in the elevator.

It was decided. A whirlwind conference, and everything was said and done. The Avengers knew it all – every detail, and Director Fury confirmed there would be no termination. Black Widow was going to continue her work undercover at S.H.I.E.L.D. collecting intel and commanding ops from the main base. It was all going to be shrouded in the deepest of secrecy, the kind that only S.H.I.E.L.D. knew how to contrive. They were all in a bit of shock. Natasha was nearly silent. And then it was time.

Only Stark, Bruce, and Steve were at the Tower that night when the Widow prepared to make her departure. Director Fury had made all the necessary arrangements for her to be airlifted from the rooftop using one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s unmarked helicopters to avoid any publicity or interest in the vehicles coming and going at the base of the Tower. Thor had gone at once to Asgard to try and find Loki and bring him to justice, and the Hawk was nowhere to be found.

They all gathered in the main area of the 'family' room and stood in near silence, broken only by Steve's awkward shuffling, and Bruce clearing his throat. Tony spoke the first coherent sentiment.

"Sure gonna miss you, spider lady," he said. "But it'll be over in no time."

"Thanks, Stark," Natasha said flatly. "Found our temporary replacements yet? Did you contact the kid I suggested?"

"Actually, I followed advice for once."

"What are you talking about – replacing Natasha and Thor?" Bruce asked, his distaste for the idea obvious.

"Not a chance. We just agreed – me and her and Thor – that for the good of the Avengers, not knowing how long either of them were going to be out and –"

"Are you gonna replace Loki?" Steve interrupted, scratching his head, and instantly regretting the question. He hurried on. "Never mind. We are sure going to miss you, Ms. Romanov. I – uh – I thought I'd get you a little going-away present, since... since you're not too happy about the – reason..." He stammered to a halt, producing a nearly cubic package wrapped in plain white paper. "Clint helped me with suggestions."

Natasha felt her face break into an unwarranted smile which she strove to hide as she accepted the package from the soldier. "Thanks, you really didn't have to. I don't want this to be fuss."

"Yeah, but open it, I want to know if you like it," Steve urged.

Fighting back the bizarre ideas of a Russian Christmas that surfaced in her mind, Natasha silently tore into the gift, the ripping of the paper the only sound in the room. She tossed the wrap aside and looked at the copy of Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace that she held in her hands.

"Clint said you liked to read, and you hadn't read that one yet," Steve grinned. "Maybe it'll help pass the time."

"Hey, and it's by a Russian guy. Nice going, Capsicle," Tony pointed out.

Natasha looked up. "Thanks, Steve. That was really nice."

He ducked his head. "No problem."

Bruce pulled her into a quick embrace. "Don't forget what we talked about," he murmured. Last night he and Natasha had stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, alternating in silence and musing aloud. Natasha heard more of Bruce's story than she ever had before, and would never admit it, but she enjoyed hearing his advice. That was a wise guy hiding somewhere between the mild manners and glasses, and the destructive deadly Hulk.

She nodded, and met Tony's eyes. "Tell me about these new people."

"Thor's sub is the boyfriend of a news reporter for the Daily Planet," Tony began, but stopped as Steve cut him off, crossing his arms.

"Wait a second, a news reporter? That should have been your first warning light."

"No, he's great, I've never met him, but he's the typical mixed-up weirdo with superpowers. Thought he was a regular guy, but he's the last of his race which is from another planet called Khalil, or something." Tony furrowed his brow. "No wait, that was his name. Goes by Clark, though, lives in Kansas. Heard about him last week. He'll make a great addition to the team – he's got Thor's muscles."

Steve shook his head. "What about for Natasha – just until she gets back?" he hurried to add.

"An old friend of hers. Just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Spider-Man?" Bruce rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Is he a relative?"

"He's a kid that helped me and the Daredevil a long time ago," Natasha explained. "Really bright teenager, lots of skills, just a cool kid. You'll like him."

"Well, if Natasha vouches for him and doesn't mind him filling in, that's got to count for something." Bruce smiled, but it vanished as the sound of the helicopter's whirring was heard overhead.

"Time's up," Natasha murmured, grabbing her bag, and starting to head for the door.

"Wait just a sec." Tony held out his arms. "Not even a hug?"

Natasha allowed herself to be embraced by each of the three Avengers, and then said, "Tell Barton to look out for himself, since I'm not going to be around for a while to save his hide."

They walked in silence up to the roof, and Natasha thought she caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows cast by the copter's bright flashing lights. She put the book from Steve in her bag without looking up, and tossed it onboard, climbing in, and giving the doorhandle a yank. With a nod, Fury lifted the copter from the roof as the three Avengers watched from below. Just as the automatic system kicked in and began to glide the door shut, an arrow whistled through the quickly narrowing crack and glanced off the opposite window, clattering to the floor. Natasha bent to pick it up, and as she did so, a mechanism clicked and a tiny note unfurled from a crack in the shaft. It read,

"Take care of yourself, Tash. It'll be over before you know it. – H."

"Barton, you trickster," she whispered.


	9. Neighborhood Spider-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Which is why we are too young to realize that certain things are impossible. So we will do them anyway."
> 
> -William Pitt, Amazing Grace (2006)

"Pepper, what time did you say we're expecting the spider-kid?"

Tony had done the unthinkable – he stood up and walked out of his lab in the middle of a project to confront her as she walked by. Usually he locked himself in the room and didn't eat or sleep for days, living on coffee, and emerging at the end of his inventing marathon unshaven, disheveled, and exhausted, but boasting a new and improved result of Tony Stark's genius-ness. Pepper consulted her tablet.

"Any time now," she said, taking Tony's arm and propelling him toward the common rooms. "You should be getting ready."

"Ready for what? I look great – I always look great... ready to see anyone for anything at the drop of a hat. The habits of fame, m'dear." He pulled her into an amorous kiss, ignoring the grimace of Steve and the smirk from Bruce. "What's wrong, Captain Underpants?" Pepper stabbed him in the ribs with her stylus, causing him to let out a disgruntled sound. "Hey, watch the technology – Captain – er – Crunch? Never seen a guy kiss a girl before? Betcha haven't, let's give him another chance. Watch closely," Tony instructed, latching his lips on to Pepper's once again, ignoring her sounds of protest and backing her up against the wall.

"Go easy, Tony," Bruce jibed, "-you still have to survive a few more hours before nightfall. You wouldn't want to wear yourself out just yet." He turned and addressed Steve, who was putting aside the notebook he had been sketching in, a perturbed look on his face. "Don't listen to – ahm – Flashlight Chest."

"Not a good one," Tony called. "But I don't want to argue with your alter ego, so we'll leave it there."

"Hey, I'd like to address that comment you made," Steve began, getting to his feet.

Pepper shook her head, her gaze meeting Tony's. "You're in for it, big guy. I told you to stop antagonizing each other."

"If you're under the impression that I am a naïve impotent imbecile when it comes to women, then let me just tell you you're wrong. I happen to think that having a long string of girls you've lied to and used littering the path of your life is nothing great, and on the contrary –"

"Wait, wait, wait, hold it right there, Grandpa. I don't know about any long string of girls that I've lied to or used, and all this litter-bug business is so seventies, which, I don't get since you missed the seventies." Tony threw his hands in the air. "Ask any girl who's ever been in a relationship with Tony Stark, even if it was only for ten minutes, if she felt lied to or used. Ask Pepper, for Pete's sake –"

"Guys," Bruce interrupted. "Time out, okay? Can't we just –"

"No, we can't," Steve said, his brows drawn together. He pointed a finger at Tony. "I take serious offense at all your uneducated assumptions. I may have never had a steady relationship like you and Pepper do, but let me tell you –"

"Ever even kissed a girl?" Tony lifted his brows. "Don't bite my head off, honest question."

"For your information, yes, I have," Steve pointed out.

"Once," Tony heckled.

"Yes, once – that was the day my feelings for your mother turned from a schoolboy crush into something that I thought really had a future."  
Tony wasn't heartless enough to push this further even if he was having fun, and besides, just then JARIVS interrupted.

"Sir, Peter Parker has arrived."

"Spidey." Tony took off toward the elevator. "You all coming?"

Peter Parker shook his thick unruly brown hair from his eyes and craned his neck upwards to get a good view of the Tower. Taking a few steps backwards so he could frame the giant "A" that still remained on the side of after the Manhattan Incident, he adjusted the focus on his camera, and took the picture. A grin stretching across his face, Peter stowed his camera in his backpack and entered the glass doors at the base of Stark Tower. He was met by a petite blonde girl in business-casual attire. His face lit up.

"Gwen!"

Peter and Gwen hugged, and Peter pulled back to look at her face.

"What in the world are you doing here? I haven't seen you in a long time."

Gwen shrugged. "Wasn't my fault I graduated early." She gave him a cheeky smile. "I know how smart you really are, but all your rescuing the world really doesn't do so well in your grades. They don't give credits for saving New York City or ingenuity and acrobatics."

He gave her another quick hug. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."

"Oh yeah? Well, what are you doing here?"

They stood in a draw for a moment before Peter's signature awkward laugh broke the silence.

"Okay, okay, you win – I'm here for work."

"Work? Me too."

The came to another draw, and it was Gwen's turn to laugh.

"Okay, I guess I'll explain. Come with me, I'll take you up to meet Mr. Stark."

As they walked toward the elevator, Gwen explained. "I don't need to tell you the circumstances in which my OSCORP internship fell through." Peter laughed, as she continued, "And I still needed a few more credits so I was recommended to intern here and learn as much as I could until the fall. It's really great – especially now that my favorite wall-crawler is here." She grinned at him, and Peter returned it happily.

"One of the Avengers- an old friend,-was compromised and has to go undercover for a year or so, and they asked if I'd fill in."

"You're joking."

"Seriously? You didn't know this?" Peter tugged on the straps of his backpack, and shook his head. "I really thought you knew everything."

"Wow..." Gwen marveled. "How does your Aunt May feel about all this?"

"You know her. She always seems to be holding up so well, but nobody really knows. I think she's a little worried, but secretly kinda proud," Peter said, ducking his head. "It's a big honor. I'm gonna seem like such an amateur to them."

"You'll do fine," Gwen said, giving him a friendly push out of the elevator as they reached level and found themselves in a room designed for business meetings and events. Peter, the photographer in him gaining the upper hand, gawked about him and reached for the zipper on his backpack when suddenly the door to his left opened, and a familiar-looking dark haired man strolled through.

"Tony Stark, founder of Stark Industries," Gwen introduced, and the man stuck out his hand. "You can call me Tony. Or Stark. Or Iron Man, for short."

Peter shook his hand, and stammered, "Well – I – I – thanks... it's a real – really great – er big honor to be here."

"Yeah, I know, we're just glad to have you. The Widow told us a lot about you," Tony said, crossing his arms over a disk that glowed blue through his t-shirt which Peter was just beginning to realize was the famous arc reactor that kept the billionaire alive and powered the mighty Iron Man suit that so many raved about.

"She's – told you guys about me?" Peter wasn't sure if this was good or not, but he hoped so. "What exactly has she been telling you?"

"Well, that you've got some amazing abilities – gosh, kid, don't you watch the news? That you're smart and brave and the whole shebang... and hot –" Tony grinned at Gwen, causing her to flush even redder than Peter who hurried to say:

"Well, she's awfully nice. I don't really know how much of it's true, but –"

"Are you the amazing Spider-Man, or not?" Tony stared at him.

"Well, yes, I am," Peter nodded.

"End of story." Tony snapped his fingers, and took off through the door. "Let's introduce you to the rest of the team.

Peter was taken through several rooms all more or less like the first, and into another elevator.

"Gwen, aren't you coming?" he asked as Tony entered the lift and Peter followed suit, but his girlfriend remained standing in the hallway.

"No, I've got some research to finish up and several other projects I'd like to get to," she said, grinning at Peter. "Have fun."  
"You can come with us, Guinevere," Stark said, "You know you're welcome."

"Thanks, but no, I really'd rather get to work," she said, waving. "See you, Peter."

"Catch up later?"

"Sure."

The doors shut, and Tony turned to Peter. "That girl really doesn't know how to have any fun, does she. I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Yeah, we haven't seen each other in a while," Peter said, scratching his ear. "I – uh – why did you call her Guinevere?"

Tony shrugged. "Nicknames. I love nicknaming people. Can we call you Spidey?"

"Sure, I don't mind. So – what exactly is my job description while I'm here?"

Peter followed Tony out of the elevator and into a room that was half lounge, half kitchen. On a chair at the bar sat a man with thick dark hair and glasses, typing on a laptop with a very absorbed look on his face, which was a mixture of calm and disturbed. On the sofa another man sat clad in a heathered-gray t-shirt and a pair of slacks, paging through a notebook full of doodles, while a third man wearing a maroon and black leather vest and a bracer stood by the window, eying a flock of birds as they soared past.

"This is it – the Avengers, minus two. Or three, really, but that's a long story. Gang, this is Peter Parker, otherwise known as... tah ta ta taaaaaaaa..."

"Spider-Man," Peter filled in sheepishly, grinning and giving a wave to the group. "Hi, everybody."

The man at the laptop rose and removed his glasses, advancing and offering his hand. "Bruce Banner," he said, smiling slightly. "Nice to meet you, Peter."

"Our personal Hulk," Tony supplied with a gesture. "You don't want to make him mad, believe me."

"Contrary to popular opinion, you don't have to tread on eggshells," Bruce said. "I've gotten it pretty well-controlled, and Stark is my biggest fan."

"That's right. Where's Pep?"

"She's right here." Turning, Tony beheld Pepper standing the the kitchen – he hadn't seen her.

"Spidey, this is Pepper Potts, my sidekick, and the other half of my brain," proclaimed Tony.

"Mr. Stark, what have I asked you about not referring to me as half a brain? How about external hard drive, or something."  
"Fine – my external hard drive, CEO of Stark Industries."

"Nice to meet you, Peter," Pepper said, smiling from the kitchen. Peter waved back. Simultaneously the archer and the man with the doodle book approached and introduced themselves.

"I'm Steve Rogers, Captain America," the tall blond-haired soldier said, giving Peter a tidy handshake. "This is Clint Barton, known as Hawkeye,"

"Good to meet you," Hawkeye said, his voice flat, giving Peter's hand a quick grasp and avoiding his eyes. "I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and the Black Widow's partner."

Peter understood. "I'm not permanently replacing her, just for a little bit."

"Not even for a little bit if you ask me," Clint muttered, turning and resisting the urge to just leave the room.

"Don't mind Birdbrain, he's just missing his fellow assassin. You're not the only newbie here – later we all get to meet Clark Kent, Thor's temporary replacement."

"Thor?" Peter's eyes lit up. "Like, the god of thunder? Awesome! Is he usually here?"

"Yeah, but he had to run back to his home universe to spank his baby brother for something he did," Tony said flippantly. "No idea when he'll be back and six-ish is a good number of Avengers to have around so we thought we'd give a few of you unemployed guys a chance at saving the world."

"Except we only go when we're called," Bruce added. "We don't exactly roam the world looking for people to save."

"They just come to us," Captain America finished with a smile. "How old are you, son?"

"I'm eighteen," Peter said casually. "But I don't mind."

Bruce and Pepper laughed at this, and Steve grinned. "Welcome to the Avengers, Spider-Man."

Peter hit it off with the team and was a crowd favorite right away. He had an easy-going fun personality and didn't talk all about himself – instead, he was intrigued by the stories of the other Avengers' lives and abilities. They all liked him immensely – except Clint. He couldn't shake the malevolence he felt for the teen simply because he was there in Natasha's place, even though he knew that it was not personal, nor was it Peter's fault. It wasn't even permanent. Still. He tried his best to be civil, but that was about it. The rest of the team pretended they didn't notice Hawkeye's dislike of Spidey, and subtly tried to make up for it by being welcoming, encouraging, and generally hilarious. But soon they were liking Peter for his own sake, and wondered what it would be like when he was gone. He just fit right in.

Not so with Clark Kent, the enormous quiet reporter who also joined them in the next couple of months. He was tall – as tall as Steve – with a muscular stature that rivaled Thor in size, fair skin, piercing blue eyes, and dark hair. He was young compared to most of the team – excluding Peter – and was a bit shy-seeming. His overseer at work, Ms. Lois Lane of the Daily Planet, was who Tony originally had interactions with, and as soon as Stark realized that there was no flirting with this down-to-business type of girl, he set to learning more about this Clark Kent. He was all over the news last summer when Kansas had been the target of other-worldly attacks, and since then he had gone somewhat undercover, forgoing his unavoidable nickname of Superman, and going by Clark Kent instead, the name his adoptive parents had given him, even though he confessed to the group that his Kryptonian name was Kal-El.

"So, are there any more like General Zod out there that might threaten your home state while you're away?" Peter asked as they all socialized in the lounge one night over popcorn and a documentary on the Dust Bowl – something Tony picked out for Clark's benefit even though he complained about the boringness all the way through.

"I sure hope not," Clark smiled, "But if there are, then I think I'll have some help fighting them off this time. I actually just wanted to have a normal life for a while.. and then this happened." He looked at the bowl of popcorn which Peter passed to him. "Not that I mind."

"Are you going to show us your suit?" Tony asked, grabbing the remote and hitting the power button the second the narrator finished his clincher line and the credits began to roll to the accompaniment of a whiny country song.

"It's not really a suit, in the sense you're thinking. Not like it turns me into a superhero or anything."  
"None of us think that," Steve put in. "It's the man underneath the outfit that makes the superhero, not the other way around. Our suits are just designed to help us with what we're good at, or protect us in battle."

Tony half-expected him to make a snide Iron Man comment, but it never came. Sometimes he didn't get that old-fashioned guy, he was so impossible to predict. Probably came from being close to a hundred years old.

"Well, in that case," Clark said, finishing a bite of popcorn and clearing his throat, "-it is a suit. It's what my people all wear on Krypton – or did wear," he gave a sad smile. "It's a kind of armor, and nearly impenetrable."

Peter listened with interest. "I'd like to compare notes with you on the sort of materials it's made of – I made my own suit myself, and I developed this synthetic spandex-like fabric, only tougher, and more textured. It really takes a beating quite regularly though – I'm always having to fix it."

"The thing about Mark VII is that it's metal, and so if I have to repair it that means lab work and welding, not needles and thread," Tony said, "But it's worth it – I think."

Peter nodded. "If it does what you need it to do, then it is."

Just then, JARVIS, following a previous automatic prompt, turned on the screen before them and began, "Sir, you had better see this. I believe this is someone known to Thor, and that they are working on resolving more of the issues surrounding the Tesseract."

Everyone immediately grew quiet and focused on the incoming images which were a mixture of security footage, pictures from the internet, shaky hand-held camera-work, and interviews with leading scientists and experts in various fields.

"Oh, boy," Tony said, as discussion arose as to which country legally held the rights to a substance found at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. "They're starting to mud-sling – how adorable."

"And this is the thing you were hoping to find when you found me instead?" Steve asked, his eyes wide. "Some disappointment."

"The Tesseract is what most people think is the the answer for clean, sustainable energy. The trouble is we have no idea who is on the other side of it, and we'll probably only find out once the power grid of the whole world is connected to it," Clint said. "There's a good reason Loki is after it."

"Wait, who is Loki?" Peter asked, confused.

"Look – that is someone we know," Banner said, pointing as a young woman with large eyes and straight brown hair appeared being interviewed, the bar beneath her proclaiming, Jane Foster, Astrophysicist. "She's a friend of Erik Selvig, Thor's friend."

"Listen to this, guys," Pepper said, entering the room, her tablet in hand, and stopping short as she realized what they were watching.

"We are," Tony called over his shoulder, reaching over the back of the couch and catching her hand as she walked by, holding it as they continued to watch the footage.

"Do you think Fury is in on this?" Clint asked, standing, and crossing his arms.

"I'm sure he is," murmured the Captain, listening closely as Erik Selvig himself proclaimed the virtues and safety of the Tesseract.

"What's with him?" Tony grumbled. "Doesn't he know that ice cube is evil?"

"Not to mention radio-active," Bruce put in.

Clark stood up, grabbing several of the popcorn bowls and asking Pepper, "Do these go in the dishwasher?"  
"Aw, you're so sweet," Pepper said, taking then from him. "Don't worry about it. Clint likes to do the dishes. At least he doesn't mind – do you?" She addressed the Hawk, who was standing by the window, looking out, in his own little world. Pepper sighed, and returned to Tony's side, bending over and whispering in his ear, "Has anybody heard from Natasha?"

Tony considered a moment, and then shook his head.

"Why not ask Clint to contact her. Then he could update us on her progress." She raised her eyebrows in the way meaning try to get what I'm really saying. Tony got it, and kissed her quickly. "Good plan. Saving the world can wait. We've gotta save some S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' love story first."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Don't mention that unless you want an arrow through your knee."

Tony winced. "No thanks."


	10. Clint's Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Guileless son, I'll shape your belief, and you'll always know that your father's a thief,
> 
> And you won't understand the cause of your grief, but you'll always follow the voices beneath..."
> 
> -Heather Dale

Natasha Romanov squinted, looking from first one screen, and then the other, to the file of co-ordinates she held. True, most people would not consider this a boring job, but after 6 months of working undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D, the secret agent was about ready to die of boredom. She longed to be out on the field, personally combating these forces herself, relishing the danger, feeding on the triumph, being refreshed by the constant need for alertness and skill, Clint by her side, and calling cocky things to her though her earpiece...

Her cell phone sat dark and silent next to her on the desk, and for a brief moment, Natasha focused her attention on it. As if on cue, the screen lit up and it began to vibrate – the super-spy never set it on an audible ring. She watched it listlessly for a moment, and finally reached out and picked it up to answer.  
"Hello."

"Hello, Nat? It's me, Clint."

At the sound of his voice, a sudden wave of an unnameable feeling washed over her and she shut her eyes in an attempt to deny it, holding back a small smile that played at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey there. Been a while."

"Yeah. Like months and months." There was a pause, and Natasha shut the file she held in front of her, switching the phone to her other ear and idly swiveling back and forth in her chair.

"They've been keeping me busy, thank goodness, but not as busy as I'd like."

"Well, then..." Clint sounded awkward, their conversation forced, driving Natasha to pose her next question.

"Where are you?"  
Back at Stark Tower, Clint's face creased into a smile. She knew him far too well. "I'm here with Peter, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, Steve, and Clint. Everybody, I guess.." He rose, and left the room, closing the door behind him, and making his way to his chamber. "Everybody but you. Now I've left. So – what's been going on?"

"I told you, nothing." Natasha's voice sounded so dreary. Clint folded his mouth tightly.

"Won't be forever."

There was a long pause, and she finally returned, "I wish it would just hurry up and be over."

"They giving you medical attention?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D's best," Natasha mocked. "Jeez, it get's annoying."

"How often?"

"Every three weeks now."

Clint resisted the urge to smile, knowing that she would be able to detect it, even over the phone, by the change in his tone of voice. He cleared his throat instead. He would die before admitting it to anyone – maybe even Natasha included – that for years he had back-shelf dreams of a normal life and a family of his own. Sure, normal for them – ahm – him, he amended – would be a far cry from the dreams of anyone else, but he secretly indulged himself in thoughts of a plain apartment in the city, a predictable work schedule... actually, he'd have to think on that one... A wife, and a few rambunctious kids: a couple boys who he'd take out of town for weekends of target shooting and wilderness living – one would take to it like a fish to the water, and the other would need a little encouraging, which brought out the patient side he'd always wished he'd develop, and a couple girls who would ace their tests at school and divide their free time between every possible interest beneath the sun, and antagonize their brothers to no end...

"You still there?" Natasha broke in on his reverie, and Clint shook himself free of his wool-gathering long enough to pass-code his door, and let himself in.

"Yeah, sorry, I wanted to go somewhere else so we could talk better. How long do you have?"

"As long as I want. They're pretty free with me, here," Natasha replied, sighing, and then finishing in a low voice, "If I can't get out of here and on a real mission soon I think I'll kill myself or something."

If it had been anyone else Clint would have laughed and come back with a quick repartee, but knowing Natasha, he knew it was a very real danger. But he also took comfort in the thought that S.H.I.E.L.D. had known Natasha since the day he disobeyed orders and brought her back to the base instead of killing her, and had decided that keeping a very close eye on her ever since was a good idea. He didn't expect they'd give it up now just because she was gonna have a kid. Kid sounded so... normal. But that's what she had referred to it as the few times she was forced to mention it, never a baby. That sounded too soft. Too good, pure, and innocent.

"I can't have a baby. Do you have any idea how much blood is on my hands?" Natasha had asked him. "I'm probably tainting it just by having it live inside me. I'm already ruining it's chances. I kill people for a living, I don't want to be responsible for creating another human who will have just as hellish of a life as I've had, maybe worse."

"But maybe it will be better," Clint had said firmly, hope in his eyes. "You can't refuse to look that possibility in the face."

Barton sat down on the edge of his bed, and opened the topic gently.

"Natasha, I've been doing some research for you."

"'Kay. What kind of research are we talking about?"

It tormented him that she seemed so reticent to talk, even to him. He knew this was a hard season for her, and didn't expect much different, but that didn't stop him from longing for this to just be over, for everything to be back how it was again. Barton, you're a selfish brute, he inwardly berated himself. Think about poor Natasha. Does it seem like she's doing this on purpose?

"Options." Clint shut his eyes, recalling the important parts of what he'd been reading about online. "S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't seem to have anything in place for these kind of situations," he began, but Natsha said dryly:

"Gotta set a precedent."

"Anyway, there's an agency that deals in emergency high-security closed adoptions. Emergency being short-notice and top secret."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "You don't have to do my homework for me, Barton."

"Have you found anything?'' There was no reply. "Then let me finish. I've taken the liberty of contacting them and giving them all your information. There's only a few things like preferences I don't know about. The agency requires your info, but does not pass it on, and vice-versa. The couples involved with this agency have passed a single inspection and less red-tape than a normal adoption. And no information about them is given to the mother other than their names and the state in which they live."

"Is my name given to them?" Natasha asked in a low voice.

"No. They don't know a thing about you, and you never see each other. The agency deals with the rest. You don't even have to see the baby if you don't want to. Of course, being a closed adoption, you'll never make contact again."

"Fine with me," Natasha said, her businesslike aspect putting a heavy weight on Clint's heart.

"You don't mind I got you all set up?"

"Nope. You know my S.S.?"

"Got it all in here. The only things I need to finish are a couple questions. Do you want to see the baby when it's delivered? Which hospital will you be delivering at? Set up a call system to notify the agency when you are in labor – I listed myself as the contact –" Natasha was nodding, trying to both take in the information, and still let it shed off her back like a duck in water, "And this is optional – to list a name for the child. Just a suggestion the adoptive parents may or may not choose to utilize."

"Is that it?"

"And that brings me to another question," Clint said, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. No, I don't want to see it."

"'Kay, got that."

"It's not an option for me to deliver in the infirmary here, Fury says, on account of possible complications, so I guess that leaves us New York Medical Center." Natasha spoke in a low voice, not because there was anybody around – and if they did, who give a fig what they think, everybody knew by now – but because she was struggling against the feeling of failure, rising like a great tidal wave before her mind's eye in the magnitude of the trigger flashbacks she still experienced. Only now, when she awoke from nightmares in the dark, there was no Clint there to listen, to talk, or to give her his shoulder to cry on.

"What about the name thing?"

"No comment." Barton knew better than to press the case.

"What was the other question?"  
Clint took a deep breath, and then let it out. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Tell me what you think about this," he began. "I... my cousin Ed Barton and I grew up pretty close. This was back in Iowa. I could always go to Ed's house when things got bad at mine. Even after the circus, we kept in touch pretty well. I'd always see him when I was in town. It was me that got Ed and his wife Cindy together in the first place. Well... it was through them I found about about the website. Apparently they were rejected by the DHS for adoptions because of some stupid reason, and then found this. Do you still want to go through with this knowing that my relatives could end up involved?"

Natasha was silent on the other end of the line. Clint held his breath, wondering if last minute his secret hopes would be foiled. Finally she spoke.

"No one gets my name, right?"

"Right. Neither side knows anything, the agency handles it all with the highest of secrecy."

There was another pause, and then Natasha said, "Alright. Send it to me for signing."

"Great." Clint said, carefully keeping the relief out of his voice. "You'll get it in no time, and then everything's set."

"Thanks." Natasha sounded genuinely grateful. "I was just starting to realize that I'd better get on top of things myself and didn't have any idea where to start. I hate all of this. So much."

"I know you do." His voice was low, and soothing, and it made her heart ache. "Can we see each other?" His voice was heavy, and longing.

"No." Natasha shook her head. "I don't want anybody to see me like this."

"I could always just look up your old friends in Russia and have my memory wiped," he joked, but his voice quickly grew serious again. "No way? I miss you. So much."

"I miss you too," Natasha said softly.

"I could come at night – it'll be pitch black, so you I won't see you. At least we could talk."

"Barton, we are talking."

"You know what I mean."

Natasha found herself nodding. "Alright. Call first, though. No surprises. If you try to peek, I'll really hurt you, don't think I won't."

"I swear. I'll call you next week."

"Sound good. Take care, Barton."

"You take care too."

Clint hung on to the phone a second longer and was rewarded for his efforts.

"Clint?"

"Hm?"

"How's Peter behaving himself?"

"Oh, fine." But Clint knew what she really wanted to know. "He's a good kid, but it's not the same. We'll all be glad when you're back. I need my partner. Won't be long now."

"The worst part is still ahead," she muttered. ""Bye." Then there was a click, and Clint knew it was really over. He sighed, and rolled over on the bed, letting his eyes close for a brief moment. Gosh, but he missed that woman.


	11. Invisible Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come, civil night,
> 
> Thou sober-suited matron, all in black."
> 
> -William Shakespeare

Loki spun around, and his angry gaze collided with that of Thor's.

"I have searched the nine realms for you," Thor began, advancing, his mighty hammer in hand, "But you had been seen nowhere, and it seemed that you had indeed vanished."

"Who says that I didn't?" Loki mocked. "Your doubts in my powers are truly insulting, son of Odin. I go where I wish, do what I please, and make myself know to those whom I see fit, and no being can tell me otherwise. You may be the great favorite, but I am free and intend to behave in a befitting manner."

"Do not give your silver-tongued speeches to me, Loki. I know what you have done, and I am here to prove to you that somewhere in the branches of the Yggdrasil, there lives one who will see justice done no matter the cost."

"Oh, is that the influence of our Captain coming through?" Loki cocked his head. "Or is that adopted from the Man of Metal?"

"Mock not our mighty company – you were once of it," Thor said through his teeth, his eyes lighting up a bright blue in pent-up fury. "No more are you one of us."

"Finally you are starting to realize it." Loki's face grew a shade paler than it's normal hue, and he began to shake with anger. "I always knew that something was different about me –"

"Stop flattering yourself you are a victim, Loki, you have always been treated as one of us, as an honored son of our father, as a great Asgardian prince and magic-weaver, as a skilled member of our company of Avengers," Thor began, but Loki cut him off, continuing:

"- And now I know what was wrong. I am not one of you. I bear none of your blood..."  
"Now, there you go too far, and dishonor the name of our mother," Thor warned.

Loki shot back, trembling with rage, "I am above you, above you all, and it is time that all the worlds knew it! The Tesseract is rightfully mine, as my seat of control over the worlds, and I am daily closer to possessing it."

"This is madness!" Thor bellowed. "You entice and harm one woman and think it draws you closer to possessing the Tesseract? You pretended like you were not interested in it," Thor pointed an accusing finger, "And misled us all with your motives. She thought you loved her –"

"And who is to say I don't?" Loki raised his hands innocently. "If my memory serves me correctly, you fell in love with a mortal woman yourself who helped you regain your power..."

"Do not bring Lady Jane into this, she had nothing to do with power in my exile," Thor seethed. "And she has nothing to do with the present situation. Where is Sigyn?"

"How your mind hops about!" Loki exclaimed in mock consternation. "What brings you to ask such a question? I have not seen her in years."

"Precisely. This brings to mind a similar situation years ago when you fell in love with and impregnated a peasant girl, then insisted upon bringing her to live with you at the palace, no matter what Father said –"

"How dare you," Loki hissed, stepping closer to Thor. "Mysterious are the ways of love, and I was young and foolish."

"Not unlike now, brother," Thor said sadly, shaking his head. "My trust in you was strong, and I have given you chance after chance."

"And I ruined them! All of them!" Loki screamed. " _You_  gave me chances!  _Father_ gave me chances!  _Mother_  gave me chances. Sigyn, The Warriors Three, Heimdall, they all gave me chances! Well, for once, why aren't  _I_ in command of something? Why cannot I give myself chances at the power and life I deserve? I gave myself a chance in Midgard, and I am succeeding. How dare you step in and big-brother me and tell me what I can and cannot do? It is preposterous! The basest of interfering pride!"

Lightning crackled from Mjolnir, and Thor strove to keep his rage in it's proper place as Loki ranted, his eyes glowing, his teeth bared, and his whole thin frame shaking.

Thor took a step toward his brother and demanded, "Tell me now of your intentions on Midgard."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Never," he spat. And in a flash of light, he vanished, leaving Thor standing alone in the empty room, his shoulders heaving, and great drops of sweat running down his face and into his beard.

* * *

Natasha waited in silence in the pitch black room, a tiny antechamber off the side of one of S.H.I.E.L.D's conference rooms. A tiny crackle and then a voice came to her over her earpiece.

"Tasha?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come?"

"Yeah, I'm in the closet of room 121A," she said, releasing the button, and taking a deep breath. She hated to admit how much she had missed all of the Avengers, but especially Clint. Briefly she wondered if this were a good idea as she caught the sound of quiet footsteps entering the room. Clint's voice spoke her name.

"Natasha."

She waited in silence as he opened the cracked door, and let himself in, taking a deep breath in the close confines of the anteroom.

"Does this have to be secret?"

"No, but it was still light enough in the main room to see a little." Clint nodded in the dark, pulling the door shut behind him and heaving a sigh.

"I'm so glad to be here with you," he said honestly, reaching a hand out and finding hers in the dark. She gave it a hard squeeze that proclaimed her agreement more than her words ever would. "How are you?"  
"Fine," she said. "Ready for it to be over with."

Clint smiled and shook his head. "Nat – I wish I could see you."

"Don't push, Barton."

"I want to see your face." He stroked her hand in the pitch blackness, hearing and feeling her breath close to him.

"You know what my face looks like," Natasha chuckled, but then sobered. "I don't want any of you to see me like this. To remember me like this."  
"I understand that. But aren't I always the exception to the rule?"

Natasha shook her head. "Not this time, Hawk." He sighed in resignation.

"Where are you?" He felt gingerly up her arm and rested his hand on her shoulder, feeling Natasha carefully keep her torso away from him, but allowing him to throw his arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head into the angle of his neck and they stood thus, comfortable and silent for a long time. Clint squeezed his eyes shut, and then opened them again, the pitch blackness of the room beginning to hurt his eyes which were still straining for some visibility, no matter how impossible that was going to be.

He murmured, "I can't stay long," and Natasha nodded, letting him stroke her hair away from her brow and rock ever so slightly back and forth. He removed his arm from around her shoulders and ran a hand down the back of her head, feeling her thick soft hair extend down her back.

"Gosh, Natasha, your hair is so long!" he exclaimed.

"It grows fast," Natasha shrugged. "I figured I'd just let it go, since nobody is going to see me a anyway, and cut it after this is all over."

"Now I really want to see it," Clint smirked. "I bet it's nice."

"It's not nice. It looks like an old woman."

Clint's chuckle filled the tiny pitch black room and made Natasha smile. "I'm sure it doesn't." He reached for her again, accidentally brushing his hand against – He felt Natasha stiffen and move back a couple inches from him in the tiny space.

"Kind of crowded in here," Clint said casually. "Are you armed?"

"Always."

In a swift move, Clint's hand moved to her secret place and snatched her stiletto out of its sheath, and confiscated the tiny automatic from the small of her back. He shoved them far back into a shelf by the door.

"Anything else?"  
"Give those back, Barton."

"No. I don't want you to kill me."

"Good point," she said. "Give them back when we leave."

"Of course."

There was a long, heavy silence in which their breathing was the only thing heard in the closet. The air was beginning to get close, their warmth filling the tiny space and making the silence feel hazy. Clint was overwhelmed by Natasha's blessed nearness at last, and he knew she felt the same way. In a swift move, he enveloped her in a hard, strong embrace, and she returned it happily, not holding back, her altered figure pressing against him and making him throb in places he'd rather not. Clint closed his eyes, letting his hand travel down her hair, down between her shoulder blades, and trail down her back, slowly creeping around and resting gently against the side of her swollen belly.

He could feel her breath catch and then come quicker, and increased his hand's pressure, dropping to his knees before her, and murmuring, "Don't kill me."

Slowly he reached out and lightly touched the front of her belly in the darkness, putting all his senses other than sight to work as he closed his eyes and traced a hand across it's firm surface. A thrill ran through him as, blind in the dark, he placed both hands on the unborn child in Natasha's womb and focused all his thoughts on its behalf. His pressure growing steadily heavier, he held her resolutely in place and pressed a gentle kiss to her, the warmth of her skin through her shirt calling to him and making him grope for its hem.

"I don't think so," Natasha whispered, catching his hands and pulling him to his feet. In the darkness, Clint looked down as she leaned into him briefly, and said in a low voice, "You should go now."  
"I know," he murmured, tearing his hand from hers and reaching for the doorknob. He turned back. "We say goodbye here, since you won't come out?"

"Right. The room will seem bright compared to in here."

"Come out," Clint said, giving in and nearly begging. "I'll go first so you are behind me and I still won't have seen you."

"You'll turn around," Natasha said, fully convinced. "No."

"I swear I won't turn. Natasha – when have I ever lied to you?" His voice was earnest. There was a long pause, and then he concluded, "I've got to go." He stepped forth into he room, and then stopped, standing stock still before the large conference table, his back to the closet, his eyes squinting at the seeming brightness of the dim room after the blackness of the closet. He heard footsteps behind him and shut his eyes, a wave of longing rippling down his body.

"Okay, I'm out. Don't turn around," Natasha said in a small voice.

"Alright. I won't." There was a long pause, and then he said, "Bye, Tasha. I'll be seeing you soon. We all –"

Suddenly she was behind him, enveloping him in a close embrace, her body pressed unashamedly into his back, her arms clasped around his chest. He leaned back into her for a moment and laid his head against hers, squeezing his eyes shut and pivoting in her embrace to hug her from the front.

"My eyes are closed," he whispered, and he felt her give a small laugh.

"Good. Nothing to see."

"Goodbye, Natasha."  
"Take care, Barton."

And not trusting himself to keep his eyes shut any longer, Hawkeye wheeled and strode out the door, leaving Natasha standing alone in the silent empty conference room.

* * *

When Loki vanished to escape from Thor's vengeance, he had not visualized where he planned to relocate himself. His subconscious taking control, Loki opened his eyes to find himself in an empty room at S.H.I.E.L.D's base. He knew why he was here. The Black Widow. He did not have Heimdall's eyes to see in all realms, nor the sixth sense that some of the Avengers claimed, but he had powers of mind control, and invisibility... which made it nearly impossible for him not to achieve the same results. And the woman – the woman with the fire-hued hair and the matching temper, the woman who perhaps was the only person with whom he had ever let down his guard and who perhaps alone understood his feelings of rejection, guilt, and longing... she was here. He had not seen or heard from her since the night upon which their feelings for each other were consummated – truth be told, he was divided between his thrill at having someone who was at last united to his purpose and goals – someone whom he could control at last, and the fear that she would reject his control over her in the cold light of day, the control she had so freely given him in the darkness of the night. And fear that she would see him for who he really was – for somehow she possessed an ability to see even what he could not – and reject his love on those grounds as well.

He was invisible – and he was not alone. A figure stood on the other side of the table, Loki realized as his eyes rapidly adjusted to the blueish lighting of the darkened room, and he knew who it was. Natasha. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears – and a second heartbeat...

Loki was at her side in an instant, his eyes taking in everything from the pair of tears taking a stroll down her pale face, to the long red hair that reached past her shoulders and creased into waves that would put any Asgardian noblewoman to shame and envy, to her figure, altered beyond recognition with child – his child. The thought hit him like the blow of a Frost Giant's icy mace, making his chest rise and fall in uneven catches and his legs quake beneath him. What had he done...

Natasha turned away, crossing her arms and dropping her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as the quiet of the room roared in her ears. She thought she heard a small noise and remembered her weapons still stashed somewhere in the anteroom. Scanning the area, Natasha neither heard the noise again, nor saw anything, but momentarily was arrested by a small, cool breeze eddying about her, and a sudden chill that ran the length of her frame and lingered in her stomach... Then it was gone. Straightening she shoulders and blowing out a breath, Natasha retrieved her weapons and returned to her room, opening the book from Steve and perusing the page bookmarked by the light of the lamp, but not really seeing the words. And in a dark corner of the universe, a gap between two realms, a tall figure doubled over in unexplainable pain and quietly wept.


	12. Steve's Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They carried the soldier's greatest fear: the embarrassment of dishonor... They were afraid of dying, but too afraid to show it. They carried the emotional baggage of men... who might die at any moment. They carried the weight of the world. THEY CARRIED EACH OTHER."
> 
> -The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien

Steve lay once again on the bed in the infirmary, and presented first his right hand, and then his left to be strapped down.

"You ready for this?" Bruce asked him, and he nodded.

"Just routine check of vitals?"

"Basically. Plus some other things relating to your DNA and the serum's effect on the changes to which your body is adapting. I can explain if you want, but considering the time we had better get underway."

Steve grinned. "I trust you."

Bruce chuckled, and his face blurring into oblivion was the last thing Steve saw...

_"Rogers, Steven, Barracks 11B," Colonel Phillips barked, continuing on down the list. Snickers ran through the crowd, but a sharp look silenced the new recruits. Steve didn't see what was the matter – until he realized that Barracks 11B was for staff, not soldiers. He sighed. The army did have a point there – he was an experiment, recruited with the help of Doctor Erskine, and was to do as he was told until Project Rebirth was ready for him. He didn't know if he would ever be ready, hardly understanding what the procedure was to do anyway. All he was told was that he would be the first, and that he was perfect for the job..._

_Easing open the door to the staff barracks, Steve slipped his slight frame through into the murky darkness of the long low room, and shuffled along the corridor following the dimly lit signs upon each door, labeling the blocks Unit A, Unit A.1, Unit A.2, Unit A.3, ah – finally. Unit B. Knocking lightly on the door, Steve was surprised to hear a voice come from behind it._

_"Come in." It was a woman's voice. Swallowing, Steve laid a hand on the latch and stuck his head tentatively in, before opening the door all the way and stepping inside. Two plain iron bedsteads stood along one wall divided by a stack of empty MRE boxes atop which perched a hurricane lantern and a book. At a desk on the other wall sat a woman – the British woman he had seen earlier during training, who had introduced herself as –_

_"Agent Carter?" Steve asked quietly. She looked up from her work, and gave him a brief smile._

_"Mr. Rogers." Steve's heart sank. Not Private Rogers, or anything, just plain Mr. Rogers, a painful reminder that no matter how far he had come, he was still not a real soldier, but an experiment._

_"It seems you are to be borrowing the other half of my quarters for the duration of your stay here, unless you object," she continued, a business-like aspect about her, as usual, Steve was beginning to realize. He marveled at her sense of command, her decorum, and obvious confidence in her role, and wondered if she always behaved in such a way._

_"No, I don't object – that is, if you don't mind," Steve fumbled, setting his bag on the bed nearest to him, observing that the other appeared a bit rumpled, and probably was hers. "I keep to myself."_

_"I should hope so," came the response, and turning, Agent Carter crossed the room and grabbed a stack of pyjamas she had sitting on top of a leathern satchel. "We change in the lavatory down the hall," she explained, and with that, shut the door behind her, leaving Steve alone in the barracks. He supposed it made no difference now that she was gone, and quickly removed his too-large soldiers' jacket that he had been so proud to receive earlier, even though he knew it wasn't quite a uniform, and stepped from his stiff slacks into a pair of soft cotton pants, leaving his undershirt and dogtags on, and slipping between the sheets of the hard bed._

_He lay there on his back, the covers pulled loosely up over his narrow chest, staring at the ceiling until he heard the soft footfalls of bare feet, and the door opened to reveal Agent Carter, clad in a set of mens'pinstripe pyjamas and carrying her uniform and shoes under her arm. She produced a hairbrush and quickly pulled it through her light brown hair before turning out the light in silence, and sitting on the edge of the creaky bed across from Steve. He held his breath. This was an awkward arrangement to be sure, but there was nothing that could be done – he supposed such a situation would never have occurred had he been a real soldier, or anybody over five foot three and 110 pounds for that matter. And as it would continue only temporarily, he privately resolved to cause as little a fuss as possible._

_"So, Mr. Rogers," Agent Carter said, her crisp voice cutting into his thoughts in the darkness. "What do you think of the U.S. Army?"_

_"What I always thought, ma'am, that it's a great and wonderful thing, and I'd be honored to be a part of it."_

_"Aren't you?" The question dumbfounded Steve._

_"Well – I – not really," he stammered. "You know."_

_"You have been listed in my training roster along with all the other boys, you will be taking your meals with your regiment, and doing the regular duties of a soldier. The only thing that prevents you from being a real member of the army is a uniform, a title, and your name on the proper sheet. Does it really matter?"_

_"With all due respect, miss, it does matter to me. In my estimation, the uniform, the title, and the name on the piece of paper are all the most important parts, second to doing my patriotic duty, of course."_

_Agent Carter had to admit she was impressed. She had seen this tiny recruit during training, and had given him neither special hardships nor special attentions. He certainly had a big spirit, even though she fought the urge not to laugh when she saw his quaking push ups, his breathless jumping jacks, and the helmet that fell down over his brow when he ran._

_"Doctor Erskine has certainly picked the right sort of person for his experiment," she commented, lying back on the pillow and pulling the covers up to her chin. "He is a very interesting man."_

_"I like him a lot. I think we will be good friends."_

_"Do you know much about his project?"_

_Steve shook his head. "I just met him the other day."_

_"Well then, you're in for a shock. I won't spoil it as I know very little myself, but it's, ah – quite the undertaking, I understand."_

_Steve didn't know what to make of this – whether it was good or bad, so he decided to ask._

_"What is it, exactly?"_

_"You had better talk to him about it," Agent Carter returned. "He will be here tomorrow to view the recruits' progress – or, more properly – your progress."_

_Steve felt vaguely honored by this man's interest in him,, and smiled in the dark. "Well, I'd better let you get some sleep, and prove myself true to my words of not bothering you. I bet your starting to not believe me."_

_"Not at all – I began the conversation in the first place."_

_There was a silence, and then Agent Carter rolled over and sighed, "Goodnight, Mr. Rogers."_

_"Goodnight, ma'am."_

_Steve lay awake long into the night, listening to his barracks-mate's even breathing and hearing the owls cry to each other in the woods just outside the compound._

* * *

_The following day was the longest day Steve ever remembered living through – had never been more sore in his life, not even on the day when he sparred with a bully three times his size in the alleyway of his home city for two hours before admitting that he was soundly beaten. His body ached in every possible place, places he never even knew existed, and his throat burned from dehydration. Holding his head erect and wincing as he made his way in as soldierly a fashion as he could manage to Barracks 11B, he took no notice of the man standing and smoking a cigarette around the corner of a building, and talking and laughing with one of the guards._

_Agent Carter's duties kept her in the officer's quarters late, and so Steve readied himself for sleep with more haste than caution for his muscles, and was just about to leap into bed and let out the satisfied groan that he had been repressing the entire day when the door opened, and footsteps entered the room. Steve jumped – the light of the hurricane lantern shone, not on Agent Cater or one of the officers, but upon the fine features and civilian clothes of a dark-haired distinguished-looking man._

_"Oh!" The man jumped in his turn, viewing the scrawny recruit halfway on his cot, and looked about the room. "They've got you in here, have they?"_

_Steve could do nothing but nod, and stick out his hand. "Steve Rogers. Sorry, I –"_

_"Is Peggy not in?"_

_"Peggy..." Steve groped. "Oh – Agent Carter is at a debriefing with Colonel Phillips. Should I tell her you... called?"_

_"Don't bother," the man said, helping himself to a seat on Agent Carter's cot, and settling in for a conversation. Steve swallowed, and grimaced as he turned his body to face his guest. "She knows I drop in occasionally. I'll just catch her next time. So, you're the new recruit I've been hearing so much about. Agent Carter's been talking about you."_

_"R-really?" Steve was shocked – why would a beautiful and important woman like her would notice a little guy like him... "What's she been saying?"  
"Oh, lots. How rude of me." He rose, and offered his hand. "Howard Stark. I work in weapons and defense technology. Agent Carter and I are old friends."_

_"Oh – really." Steve regretted it the instant it was out of his mouth, as it sounded so unconvinced and territorial. If anything, this Stark was going to be upset about Steve's living situation in such close proximity to Agent Carter, not the other way around... He realized that he wasn't even listening to Stark ramble about his newest inventions and all the times he had come here and Peggy wasn't around to see him – ungrateful thing – and his construction of a corporate tower to house his multimillion dollar business's base in New York City... Steve shook himself and tried to be attentive, but his eyes wouldn't quit drooping._

_"Well, if I'm not boring you to death, I don't know what would!" Stark exclaimed at last, laughing outright, and stroking his dark mustache. "I'd really better be going. Tell Peggy that I stopped in if you remember – and –" he pointed a finger. "Look out around here. You've got to stay in once piece at least until Thursday when Doctor Erskine and I can get a hold of you." Steve realized he must have missed the part of the conversation linking Stark and Erskine in Project Rebirth, but he nodded, and said,"Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark."_

_"Likewise." And the door shut with a bang. It was late that night when it finally opened again and Agent Carter slipped in and quietly began to make preparations for bed. A groggy voice startled her from the other side of the room._

_"Er – miss?"_

_"Mr. Rogers," she said, after gasping and recovering herself. "Whatever are you doing awake? I thought you looked exhausted earlier and so I sent you to bed."  
"I was waiting up for you," he explained in a haggard whisper. "Mr. Howard Stark stopped by and said to tell you that he... stopped by," Steve trailed off, stifling his hundredth yawn._

_"You didn't have to stay up to tell me that," Agent Carter hissed. "You'll end up ill, and get a bad record on your second full day here." But all the same, she couldn't deny this growing feeling of admiration she felt for this little recruit, who already had demonstrated the bravery of a warrior, the smarts of an alleycat, and the character of a saint._

* * *

_Thursday came sooner than Steve realized, and he freely admitted to Agent Carter – who now insisted that he call her Peggy, if likewise she could call him Steve – that he was a little nervous and had no idea what he was in for._

_Peggy anxiously laced and unlaced her fingers as she watched the preparations from her vantage point in the press room, and resisted the urge to laugh as Steve's voice came, muffled from inside the disturbingly coffin-like chamber:_

_"I guess it's too late to go to the bathroom?"_

_Howard Stark met her eyes and their gazes locked for a moment, united in their concern for the welfare of this young soldier, and at Doctor Erskine's command, pulled the lever. Peggy gritted her teeth as cries came from the chamber – they grew in intensity and a bright light began to flash from within. Steve's voice broke in pain and Peggy rose from her seat._

_"Shut it off!" she shouted. "Shut it off!" Howard met her eyes, holding the power level steady. Then they both heard a loud gasp as Steve yelled from within the chamber,"No! No! Keep going – I can do this! I can do this!"_

_Doctor Erskine nodded, and the power increased the one hundred percent as sparks began to fly and the room shook. Suddenly the glass on the dials of the control panel exploded and all went silent and hazy. Running on a battery back up, the chamber upended and swung slowly open, revealing a tall, bare-chested, muscular figure covered with sweat, and panting heavily. Peggy stared – the face... and then he opened his eyes. They were blue, and the same – very much Steve. He looked about in confusion and fell forward as Doctor Erskine released the straps which held him in place. Peggy hurried down to ground level,and picked her way through the debris to stand before them._

_"Thank you, Doctor Erskine," she said, resisting the urge to stare at the half-dressed man who towered above her. "How do you feel?" she asked him, focusing her eyes somewhere between his neck and his chin._

_"Taller," he managed. Doctor Erskine chuckled._

_"You look – taller..." supplied Peggy, nervously looking around them before locating and handing him his shirt which Steve immediately took from her and pulled on. Just then a shot rang out, and chaos ensued..._

* * *

_Peggy was in Barracks 11B seated on her bed quietly reading and trying in vain to keep her mind off the events of the day and the duties of tomorrow when there was a quick knock and the door opened to reveal Steve, looking a bit tired, but mostly just sorrowful. She quickly averted her eyes and pretended that she hadn't noticed his entrance, feigning to read until he cleared his throat._

_"Peggy?" She looked up and raised her eyebrows._

_"Hello, Steve. How did it go?"_

_"Fine," he sighed, and seated himself on his bed, his back to her and began to remove his shoes. "An awful lot of questions. Sometimes I just had to say 'I don't know. I really just don't know."_

_"Well, if that's the truth, that's the best you can do," Peggy said crisply, returning to her reading._

_Steve watched her curiously. "Are you okay?"_

_She nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be? I should be asking if you're okay."_

_Steve was silent, and then murmured, "The funeral's tomorrow."_

_Of course. Doctor Erskine. Peggy realized she was being very insensitive. She shut her book and turned to face the soldier._

_"I'm deeply sorry for your loss, Steve. I know – he was a good friend to you."_

_Steve furrowed his brow and ran a hand over his mouth – a nervous habit he had indulged in ever since she had met him, but which had a completely different effect on someone of his... magnitude. Everything was different now. Everything but Steve inside, which was in a strange dichotomous way, still the same. But then, why should it be different? He still had a little guy spirit, just now in a big guy body. Although it was undeniably endearing, Peggy knew that she ought to put more distance between them now that the experiment seemed to have... worked._

_"Have you seen Mr. Stark?" she found herself asking, hating herself for dropping clues like this even as she did it. It wasn't that she didn't like Stark – she did. And he took especial pains to demonstrate his feelings for her. It was just that before she had played down their relationship for Steve's sake, and was now trying to play it up so that people wouldn't start thinking things._

_"Ah, yes, I actually did," Steve replied. "He was there at the conference. He looked... tired."_

_"I can imagine," Peggy said under her breath. "Everyone is probably exhausted." Silence reigned for a moment, and then Steve gestured to the stack of MRE boxes upon which perched Peggy's book she had laid aside._

_"What are you reading?"_

_"A novel," she replied briefly, trying to make her lack of interest in conversation plain. Steve caught the cue, and nodded, his mind puzzling over why should would be acting this way._

_With his characteristic straight-forwardness, he asked, "Are you upset? Did I do something to offend you? Because if I did –"_

_"No," Peggy shook her head quickly. "No...nothing's wrong. I just don't really feel like talking."_

_"Oh." Steve was quiet for a moment and Peggy's heart cried out against her hypocritical actions. She decided to follow his example and come clean with him._

_"Listen, Steve, it's not that I don't like you, or don't want to be friends, but in spite of the barriers of rank we are crossing in striking up an acquaintance, it is entirely unsuitable now."_

_Steve wasn't following her. "Alright – I get the rank thing, and I appreciate your efforts to make me welcome here, but -"_

_"Steve, you've got to realize you're not who you were before. I mean," Peggy stammered. "You are, inside, but no one else will know that. Not for a while, at least. Meantime, I think it best if we keep our distance."_

_"But we –"_

_"I mean no casual exchanges of remarks in public, no private grins over mess, nothing. People will automatically assume the worst."_

_"What's the worst they could assume?" Steve queried._

_Peggy sighed in exasperation, the emotion that came out on top of those tumbling about inside her breast, and said, "That we're carrying on, or something."_

_Steve pursed his mouth. "Carrying on... like, I'm talking too much to you? Carrying on and on and on about... ah. I see. Well, I'm sorry if I –" He stopped short as Peggy stared at him. "What?"_

_"Don't be ridiculous," Peggy murmured, standing and crossing the room to retrieve something from her desk. "You know what I mean."_

_"I mean, if you want me to leave you alone –"_

_"Steve –" Peggy wheeled. "Carrying on? Like having – an immoral relationship?"_

_Steve frowned. "Now, why would anybody think that? Just because we are friends –"_

_"And because you're three times bigger than you used to be, and sharing my room," Peggy said harshly. "People will either think that I'm a shameless – that I'm shameless," she amended, catching sight of the innocent glint in Steve's eyes in spite of his huge frame, "Or that you're taking advantage of me in our situation."_

_"Taking advantage of you?" Steve looked genuinely confused._

_Peggy could not believe it."Listen, I'm not going to stay up all night and explain the ways of intimacy between a man and a woman between you. Has nobody ever – I mean, didn't you have a father who –"_

_"My father died when I was six," Steve said quietly. Peggy was silenced, and decided to drop it._

_"I'm sorry, I didn't know," she managed. "Let's just... forget it, and get some sleep." Steve sighed in a disturbed sort of way, and turned down the light as Peggy gathered her things and headed for the door._

_"Goodnight, Peggy," he said, a bit shyly, and Peggy shut her eyes._

_"Goodnight, Steve," she returned at last..._


	13. Time Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A true woman always loves a real soldier."
> 
> -Belle Boyd

_Steve was sure he had done something wrong. He had no idea what it was, but nothing was the same between himself and Peggy anymore. He hated to admit it, but he felt something more for her than he had ever felt for a woman – it was not lust, or selfishness in any way, though there was no denying that she was beautiful in more ways than one – but rather it was honor for her as a woman, a sense of duty to her as his superior officer, and inherent respect of her inner strength and intelligence. Yes – he loved Peggy Carter. But she loved Howard Stark, he was sure of it. Besides, there wasn't any honorable way of displaying his feelings toward her in his given situation, and time and time again he was painfully reminded of the fact that 'he didn't know a bloody thing about women' as Agent Carter put it. He had been shocked by her behavior – but it didn't make him love or respect her any less. Instead, it sparked something within him he had no name for, and tormented him constantly, driving him to near despair thinking he was shirking his patriotic duty by falling in love. It was when he realized that doing his duty to his country and doing what he longed to do in Agent Carter's estimation were one and the same that his heart soared higher than a P-17 and he began to do truly great things. And then there was that fateful mission, headed toward New York... the crash in the icy Atlantic.. the rescue...the miserable months waiting for transport and medical attention..._

_Steve opened his eyes, struggling to remember where he was. For a moment he thought he was in the infirmary, and then his vision slowly cleared to reveal that he was in the back of a plane tied to a stretcher with the sleeves of his own jacket, covered loosely with a metallic reflective poncho and a torn parachute. He listened to the pilot drone co-ordinates with the landing crew, and felt the plane shudder in the turbulence and creak as it lined up with the runway and made it's descent._

_"Ah – excuse me?" Steve managed at last, bringing a medical attendant to his side. "What's going on?"_

_"He's conscious," the attendant called to another, and then bent over him. "You were nearly gone, soldier. We contacted your base and they said you were MIA and given up as lost. So we were told to contact Howard Stark and bring you to him – or more correctly, a certain –" The attendant consulted a clipboard he held, and ran a finger down the page, "-Margaret Carter." He looked up. "Does that name mean anything to you?"_

_Steve's foggy brain processed the name. Margaret... Margaret... Peggy. "Yes. Yes, it means a great deal," he said. "C-could you repeat that bit about Howard Stark? Where am I headed?"_

_"Stark Tower – that's where they are," the attendant said quickly, following landing procedure and fastening his safety belt as they touched down and taxied down the runway. Steve stared into oblivion, his mind going over and over what he had heard. Peggy... Stark Tower. Howard Stark – that's where they are._ They. _He shut his eyes again and fought against the sob rising in his chest._

* * *

_"Yes? Yes, this is... Oh – oh, yes. I do. Of course. Certainly, bring him in." Peggy Carter put down the telephone, and turned to Howard who stood watching her, a faint smile playing over his features, as he leaned an elbow on the table. She crossed her arms and confronted him._

_"Why didn't you tell me he was here?" she demanded, her eyes flashing. "Then at least I could have gone and seen him and not left him all alone just two floors below us wondering if he has a single friend in the world –"_

_"Hush-sh, stop it, no need to make a fuss. In your condition –"_

_"It's a condition women have survived in for thousands of years, Mr. Stark," Peggy replied crisply. "That's no excuse for why you didn't tell me that Steve was alive! That he was here! It's just –" She gave up, lacking words. Howard straightened and made his way over to her, slipping his arms around her from behind, and burying his nose in her hair, stroking her slightly rounded abdomen. "It wasn't necessary, and it wasn't going to be good for you, seeing as you couldn't see him until he recovered."_

_Peggy was stiff in his arms, and Howard sighed, planting a kiss on her cheek, and releasing her. "Too bad they interrupted your music – I really like that song." He gestured to the forgotten piano across the room. "I guess they've deemed him ready, and are sending him up?"_

_Peggy nodded, too overwhelmed for words. Steve. He was alive. He was not only alive after all this time, but now he was here, recovering in Howard Stark's own infirmary. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What was he going to think. That she went with Howard the moment he left? That she didn't love him? That she was a shameless..._

_"Will you be alright?" Howard asked, furrowing his brows together. "I know you two were close – friends, that is," he amended. "I just thought –"_

_"Never mind," Peggy waved a hand. "It will be alright. We were – close..." she murmured. Howard watched in non-jealous curiosity and finally said, "Well, then, I think I'll let you two catch up one-on-one. I'll be in my lab. I do want to see the chap when you two are done."_

_Peggy nodded. "I'm still upset at you, Mr. Stark."_

_He pulled her into a kiss and returned, "I know. I'll get over it." And with that, he left the room. Peggy's heartrate increased exponentially as she quickly set the room to rights and swept her long loose hair back into a quick tail at the back of her head. She smoothed a hand over her tidy middle whose slight protrusion with any luck would be missed, and turned with a brave face to meet the world – or what once made up her world. It seemed like forever before the lift finally opened, and they were face to face._

_"Steve!" she exclaimed, all hopes of remaining cool and collecting going out the window as she fled into his arms. He was a bit surprised but returned her gesture nonetheless, and releasing her just as their embrace was growing too long for propriety. She cleared her throat, and looked at the floor for a moment, before glancing back up.  
"Can I offer you something to drink?" she said evenly, and Steve nodded._

_"Water would be great."_

_"Certainly. Do have a seat." In a sort of daze, Steve looked about him, and made his way over to the sofa, sitting down and wondering why he suddenly felt like an actor in some sort of surreal drama. Momentarily Peggy returned with a glass of water which she handed to him before taking a seat opposite him, and smoothing her hands over her lap. Steve took a quiet drink of his water, and looked up to find Peggy staring at him, her eyes full._

_"I can't believe it," she whispered. "We really thought you were dead."_

_Steve nodded, taking a deep breath."Well, the world didn't stop for me then, so I don't expect it to now," he said, causing Peggy to wonder just what he meant. On a second thought, she realized she didn't want to know, and tried in vain to banish it from her mind. She shook her head, not taking her eyes from his face._

_"I am so glad to see you." It was the understatement of the century, but she didn't care, her heart sinking as he replied, his eyes clear and honest looking into hers, "And I'm awfully glad to see you."_

_"You must tell me everything, what happened, how you survived, who rescued you, how long you've been –"_

_"Wait, hold on, miss!" Steve'e jocular comment turned awkward as he stopped short and flushed, amending, "I mean – Mrs –"_

_Peggy shook her head. "Miss." Steve took another quick sip of his water and finished in a quiet voice,"You're going way too fast. I didn't think a British person ever got that excited."_

_It was Peggy's turn to laugh as she looked at her lap again and admitted, "I forgot propriety in the excitement of the moment." She met Steve's eyes soberly. "You have no idea how I grieved for you."_

_Steve tried to resist the feelings of cynicism that arose as he looked about him at the obviously easy life she was leading here, and probably had been for some months. Peggy could read him like an open book, and said in a low voice, "I know what you're thinking. It's not what it seems."_

_"I don't think anything," The intonation he gave it brought Peggy's gaze snapping up to meet his, recalling the day she spoke those exact same words when she had suddenly come upon him in a compromising situation with Agent Lorraine... She hated to admit the jealously that had surged through her at that moment, which she had masked well. That is, until it manifested itself as blind anger in testing the vibranium Stark handed to him with a high-caliber pistol. What a fool she had been to ever be angry with Steve. And now he thought..._

_"I – I wish there was something I could say to alleviate your doubts in me, I really do," she said. "Mr. Stark simply would not –"_

_"It's none of my business, you don't have to give an account of yourself to me, Peggy," Steve said gently. "You moved on. It's exactly what I would have wanted, and you knew that."_

_"That's not exactly it," Peggy said, every word painful. "You know Mr. Stark. He gets an idea in his head and won't come off it. After – after your crash, he was the most sympathetic person you could imagine. He really admired and respected you, no matter how you felt toward him –"_

_"Do you think I hate him, or something?"_

_"I wouldn't blame you if you did."_

_"Peggy," Steve exclaimed, "You must think that I am some kind of darn fool to act like that. I know better. Yes, things didn't turn out like I hoped, but that doesn't stop me from being happy for you, and Stark, and your... family." His gaze unconsciously drifted southwards, and Peggy flushed, inhaling deeply. So the cat was out of the bag. True, they hadn't been having any sort of affair at the point in time when the fondue misunderstanding arose, but Stark would not leave Peggy alone, and after making a point of coming and simply sitting in silence across from her at the Stork Club every Saturday night, Peggy gave in, and cried on his shoulder, locking up her feelings for Steve forever. Not long after that she gave in, and was persuaded to come and live with him in New York. Colonel Phillips was glad to let her go, having had little luck talking her into a leave of absence for the past year-and-a-half they had worked together. What was a comforting relationship and a balm in her torn spirit turned into a full-fledged affair to Stark, and Peggy did not have the heart to resist him. Then she had fallen pregnant – Stark was overjoyed, and she hardly knew what to feel. Oh, what Steve must think of her..._

_"I don't think that you're a darn fool or anything of the sort," Peggy shook her head, trembling as she took one of his hands in hers and bowed her head upon it. "It is I who has been the darn fool, and I wish that you could understand how much I hate myself for this."_

_"Peggy, don't beat up on yourself just because I came back. You owe me nothing, and if you love Stark –"_

_Tears filled Peggy's eyes. "That's just it, I don't think I –"_

_"Don't say that. I am not upset. I still love you, and that's probably wrong, but it's true."_

_"You must think I'm a shameless whore," Peggy burst out, before covering her mouth, and apologizing, "Oh, goodness, I shouldn't be saying that. Not to you."_

_Steve chuckled. "It's okay. I don't think that, and I wish I'd never heard you call yourself that filthy word." He rose and pulled her up by her hands as well. "I am okay now – and we're together," He pulled her into a close embrace that took her breath away. "Even if there is a little something between us," he murmured into her shoulder, feeling with a strange thrill the curve of her womb against his waist. Peggy wrapped her arms around his strong back and held him close, cherishing the moment, and tasting the salt of the tears that trickled down her face._

_"You are so good," she whispered._

* * *

_Howard Stark pulled his face away from the contraption through which he was viewing the goings-on of the room, and gritted his teeth. He was not insanely jealous – what Steve was getting was nothing new to him, for Peggy had given herself wholly to him – and he knew that she loved Steve. He practically heard her say that she did not love him, which gave him a little stab of pain somewhere in the left side of his chest, but didn't he already know that? A woman such as Peggy Carter did not find her worth in men and what they thought of her. It was the fact that Steve was defending him – was not bashing him or putting him down in any way; Steve was actually encouraging his old sweetheart to love someone else with an impossible amount of grace and forgiveness. It did not make sense. The offer from S.H.E.I.L.D., SSR's new name was in his hand – would he refuse to help his country's highest-tech agency, and his primary business association with a small favor? His own name signed across the bottom of the page glared at him, and so he picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the extension; the operator knew who he was the moment he started speaking._

_"Stark here. Any time now." And then he hung up, shaking from head to toe._

* * *

_Steve suddenly felt nervous as he followed Peggy's instructions, and felt her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. He did as he was told and took her right hand in his left, gingerly placing his other hand on her waist. Peggy froze as she realized he was staring intently at her middle._

_For a moment she stood still, hardly daring to look at his face lest she meet his eyes, and heard him murmur,"I can't believe a baby is growing in there."_

_Then he looked up and gave her an honest smile as they prepared for their long-belated dance._

_"You are going to do exactly the opposite of what I do," Peggy found herself saying, stepping away from him just a bit so they could watch their feet. "First, I'm going to step back –"_

_"And I'm going to step forward," Steve countered, stopping short as Peggy tapped the top of his foot with the toe of her shoe._

_"Other one. There. And now we're going to step over this way and end up with your feet side by side." They moved in perfect unison, and Peggy resisted the urge to grin like an idiot. "Very nice. And now I'm going to go forward..."_

_"And I'm going to go back..."_

_"Yes. And then the other way, and feet together again." They stopped, and Steve broke into a smile as Peggy pulled her hand from his and stood before him, a bit red in the face._

_"That wasn't so bad," he admitted._

_"Not at all. You are a quick learner."_

_"Let's do it again," Steve said eagerly, grabbing her waist and hand, and beginning to chant,"To the front, to the side, together, to the back, to the side, together..." They increased speed and were turning about the room rather well, when suddenly the door flew open and in poured a squadron of black-clad men with automatic rifles the likes of which Steve had never seen._

_Pushing Peggy behind him, Steve demanded,"What is going on?"_

_At a command, they surrounded him and began to try and wrestle him to the floor, Steve giving valiant resistance and shouting, "Don't hurt her! Don't hurt her!" as his head was forced farther and farther down to the ground. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his arm and a cold chill as something was injected into his bloodstream, and everything went black._

Steve awoke to a throbbing in his arm, and slowly opened his eyes, starting a little when he saw Bruce bending over him and withdrawing an emptied syringe from his bicep. He gave Steve a nod.

"You okay? You seemed to be having a rough time, but we gave you nearly three times the amount of anesthetic would take to keep a normal person under."

Steve shook his head, trying to clear it of the vivid hallucination.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just – had a weird dream – like a flashback, but then stuff started happening that – that didn't actually happen."

"Oh – sorry about that," Bruce said. "That can't be pleasant. Well, we're finished now. You'd better take it easy until this finishes running through your system, and then you should be back to normal. Anything I can get for you?"

Steve shook his head. "No – but I'd like to talk to Tony if he's not busy."

 


	14. Technicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...[She] smiled at his earnestness - smiled without the least misgiving; for, to her apprehension, the youth was still a boy, to wonder at and admire beauty, without being in the least danger of having his peace of mind disturbed by love."
> 
> -E.D.E.N. Southworth

"You'd think that a sign would be enough, but really..." Pepper was pretending to be more annoyed than she was, having opened the fridge and pulled out half a loaf of bread that was crispy enough to crumble up and use for croutons. It wasn't such a big deal, but Tony was fun to complain to...

"Seriously. It wasn't my fault. I never eat toast, or sandwiches, or anything like that." Seeing Pepper's look, he hurried to add, "Or if I do, then I never make it, so it's still technically not my fault." Giving her a smirk, he turned as Gwen Stacy entered the room and looked up from her tablet.

"Mr. Stark, I have a question of a … technical nature."

"Oh good, we were talking tech anyway." Tony jumped to his feet.

"I thought you were talking science – you know, amalopectin retrogradation, that kind of stuff."

Tony stared. "Say that again, and translate please?"

Gwen shrugged. "That's the fancy science way of saying bread is getting stale."

Pepper suppressed a laugh as Tony shook his head and went over to the blonde girl, crossing his arms over his arc reactor and querying, "So, what's the problem? Is it something in the lab? You know, technically it doubles as a workshop, and –"

"Mhm." Pepper cleared her throat. "I'll leave you two so you can get right to the point," she said.

"That's a pointed comment," Tony said, stabbing a finger in her direction. "I won't forget that one. Not ever."

"Technically, you'll remember it for approximately 38.8 seconds if it's in your short term memory," Gwen jumped in, unable to resist staying out of the fun. She and Peter joked that sarcasm was their love language. "If it's in your long term memory, then technically –"

"Oh, knock it off, science girl, and get to the point. Oops," Tony said, poking Pepper for real this time as she sauntered past. "Pointed comment."

"Ow." She glared, and said to Gwen, "So – what is it – technically?"

Gwen giggled, and began, "Well... since I have logged enough hours for the week already in the lab – tech – er... properly, am I allowed to have some time off for the rest of the day?"

"The rest of the day?" Tony scoffed. "The rest of the week, Barbie. You've already logged all your hours by what – seven o'clock Tuesday night? You're off work, kid, go find your web-slinging boyfriend, go for a walk, knock yourself out."

"Technically speaking?" Pepper couldn't resist. Gwen gave Pepper a quick embrace and stuck out her hand to Tony who ignored it bear-hugged her instead, causing her to grimace, but hug back.

"Thanks – where's Peter, do you know?"

Pepper asked JARVIS, who replied, "Currently he is in Elevator 3."

"JARVIS has kind of a hot voice," Gwen said privately to Pepper who grinned, but Tony heard her and jumped in, "That's because I designed it and if I'm involved, then you know it's gotta scream hotness."

Just then Peter himself entered the room, and said cheekily, "Who screams hotness, you?" He grabbed Gwen, and said in an excited voice, "Did he let you off for the rest of the day?"

"The rest of the week," Gwen replied, and they squealed like a couple of kids and raced from the room together, leaving Pepper and Tony to shake their heads in their wake.

"So, what do you wanna do?" Peter demanded the moment they entered the elevator, hovering his hand in front of the button panel. "Up? Down? Both?"

"Both," Gwen joked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Want to go somewhere else or stay here?"

"You had better stay here in case you are called to save the world," Gwen said, brushing him out of the way, and pushing the button to the private chambers floor "We can just hang out here. I don't care as long as we're together. I don't see you nearly enough."

"Wow, somebody's getting clingy," Peter joked, throwing his arm around her shoulder. "You know, that's not a very good thing, considering –"

"You know I'm not clingy!" Gwen pushed his arm away and glared at him. "Gosh, if I were really clingy, then wouldn't you know it."

The elevator dinged as they reached the floor and the doors slid open. After Peter finished showing off by pretending he had got the wrong door and accidentally-on-purpose used his sixth sense to hack into the pass-code of Thor's unoccupied room, they reached Gwen's chamber and promptly threw open the window to get some fresh air circulating about the cubicle.

"This is so funny – you've got it set up exactly like your old room," Peter commented from the bed where he sprawled, watching Gwen plop down in her computer chair and swivel in a smooth circle.

"I don't like a whole lot of extra stuff around, and I guess I just figured out an arrangement of things that works well for me," she admitted. "I wasn't really trying to be non-creative."

"You weren't?" Peter teased, and Gwen changed the subject, asking him, "By the way, have you heard from Black Widow?"

Peter shook his head, running a hand through his unruly hair, and answering, "Not me personally, but Clint said he talked to her. I think he might have even infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D's security base and visited her too."

Gwen looked surprised. "Wow. These super-spies are pretty good, I guess."

"Anything for love," Peter sighed dramatically and put his hands behind his head. Gwen gave him a funny look.

"Are they together?"

Peter sat up and rubbed his face. "I don't know if they are or aren't together. I don't even think they know if they're together, but I think they'll get together one day."

Gwen nodded. "I see." Then she laughed. "That's so bizarre. You think you'd know if you loved someone or not."

Peter's face got serious. "Yeah, but that isn't necessarily reflected in whether you're together or not." He broke into a grin. "You know I liked you for a long time before we finally got together."

"Before you finally got the nerve to talk to me, you mean," Gwen said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, silently laughing at him, and egging him on.

"Oh? If I remember correctly, it was you who talked to me first – you asked me what my name was after I –"

"You had a concussion. Let's not argue about that any more, just accept it. Besides, that's the only way to account for your subsequently crazy actions in trying to start something with me. I'm a nerd."

"But a hot nerd," Peter pointed out. "I'm joking, you are –"

Gwen's face went blank. "Seriously? You finally give me a compliment, and then you tell me you were joking?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No, it's just that I think there should be more to a girl than hotness, which is what you've got. You're not only incredibly pretty and nice, but you're also smart and you're

not clingy. That is something that guys secretly hate."

"Really?" Gwen opened her eyes wide. "Wow. Well, I guess I'm glad I'm not clingy then. I do worry about you some, but I realize that you have your priorities in place and I wouldn't want to come before that anyway. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Peter smiled and patted the bed next to him, inviting Gwen to take a seat. "And I admire that about you, that you can see that. You're pretty great." He stifled a yawn, and aimed a swipe at her silky blonde ponytail. "I think I'll keep you."

"Oh, thanks," Gwen mocked, wrapping her arm about his narrow waist and sighing as they got comfortable in their new favorite cuddling ritual. The room was gradually growing dimmer as the sun set and shadows danced all over them, cast from the curtain waving in the breeze, and their conversations wandered from topic to topic, finally ending with Peter trying to pry an awkward story out of Gwen about a class she took once in school.

"I'm not going to leave you alone about it, you know," he badgered.

"I know – you're a pest."

"I just love funny stories, and it's not fair for you to bring one up and then not tell it."

Gwen covered her face and burst into a fit of giggles. "It's just too weird."

"Was it you?"

"No!" She exclaimed, twisting around to look at him. "It was this biology geek in the back who started–"

"Oh, so it is you!" Peter nodded wisely, yelping as Gwen gave him a playful whack on the chest.

"Careful, that's my sore spot," he said, wincing and touching the area gingerly.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't think of that," Gwen said, concern tugging at her brows. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Peter shifted on the bed, and brought the topic back to what Gwen wouldn't tell him.

"What class was it anyway?"

"Er – sex ed," Gwen grimaced. "Now you really don't want to hear it."

"No, I do!" Peter insisted. "I skipped that one."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah – my Uncle Ben wasn't crazy about me hearing all of that stuff from some teacher in a crowd of other weird hormonal teenagers, so we had The Talk at home."

"The Talk..." Gwen grinned. "I never got The Talk, you know."  
"You didn't?"

"No. My mom and dad were like, 'There is no way we're telling this kind of stuff to our baby girl until she gets married to this perfect guy' and so I just ended up getting it at school."

"Wow," Peter said, rubbing his face. "Poor you. Uncle Ben gave me the mini-version when I was like eleven, but I got the real deal when I was sixteen."

"Aw, you were so innocent," Gwen cooed, and Peter gave her a swat.

"It was the most embarrassing conversation in my entire life. He was a great uncle, just – that's enough to embarrass anybody. It scared me out of girlfriends completely until I met you."

"And then you were like, hey, look! It's not so bad," Gwen joked. Suddenly, she got serious. "Do you ever think about doing it?"

"No, never." Peter shook his head, suppressing a smile. "Of course."

"With me?" He nodded in silence. "You?"

"Yeah." They were quiet for a moment, before Gwen added in a small voice, "I've never liked guys much at all until I met you. You're the only person I'd ever dream of doing it with."

Not one for awkward moments, Peter knew this could either get even awkwarder, or much easier, depending on which route they took. The trouble was, Gwen had the exact opposite ideas as he did as to the easier route...

"You know, I heard Mr. Stark talking to Pepper about the problems he thinks our relationship will suffer because there are only single and double beds on this floor," Gwen murmured as she closed her eyes and let Peter rub a hand down her back in slow circles. She entwined her fingers in his hair, and felt his chest quake with a tiny laugh.

"He needs to mind his own business. We'll prove him wrong yet." Peter was now fully convinced that Gwen's way was easier.

The night was much too short for both of them.


	15. Hulk Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me guess... you're the good guy, right? And we just had us one of those good-guy-meets-good-guy-and-they-fight-on-their-first-meeting-then-team-up-against-the-bad-guys-encounter?"
> 
> -Earth 616

Peter awoke the next morning, Gwen sleeping beside him, her light hair scattered over the pillows. As the sunlight played over her features he bent and placed a quick kiss on her soft lips.

"'Morning, sunshine," he whispered, easing himself out of bed and shimmying back into his clothes which were laying in a heap, tangled among the sheets. Gwen stirred, and rolled over, smiling sleepily as she saw Peter's terrible case of bed-head, just as he caught sight of it as well in the bathroom mirror and began to attack it with her hairbrush. Only making matters worse, he made a grumbling sound, and stretched his neck, wincing as his old bite throbbed.

"Do you have any Neosporin?" he asked, opening the mirror which hid a cabinet and surveying its contents.

"Now that's the perfect way to break a moment," Gwen murmured sleepily, buttoning up her shirt and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"No, really, this is brutal," Peter winced, tracing a finger over in inflamed scab on the back of his neck. "I don't know what's going on."

Gwen got up and crossed the room, putting a hand on her shoulder as she stood on her toes to examine his bite.

"Wow, Peter, that looks... painful." She grimaced. "I don't have anything for it, I'm sorry."

Peter shrugged. "It's okay." His turned and met her eyes, shyness creeping into his gaze as he stroked a finger down her cheek. "You're … awesome."

Gwen looked away and smiled. "You were too." They wrapped their arms around each other and squeezed until they both burst into breathless laughter, and Gwen said, "Are you going to wear that all day? You'd better go find something not so..." she trailed off. "I don't know. Used. You look like a thrift store exploded and you were caught in the middle of it."

Peter laughed in disbelief. "I look like an exploded thrift store? Thanks, Gwen."

"No, I mean, it's fine, it's just so wrinkled, and you wore it all day yesterday. Go put on your suit or something."

"You mean the suit I didn't wear to your house for dinner or the  _other_  one?" He cocked his head and gave her a lopsided grin. Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Never mind – leave, I'm going to get dressed myself."

"It's not like it's a big deal... now," Peter gestured. "You kicking me out?"

Gwen hesitated, then nodded. "'I'm gonna shower."

"Yeah," Peter grumbled, running a hand backwards through his hair, ruffling it into dandelion fluff. "I'd better get this under control."

Gwen gave him a quick kiss. "See you later, then."

"Alright. See you later."

Peter let himself out, and shut the door behind him, unlocking the door to his own room, and pulling on his Spider-Man suit, covering it with his old clothes. Then he went out into the corridor, skipping like a second-grader and grinning like an idiot. He rounded the corner and nearly collided with –

"Oh! Hawkeye!" he exclaimed, putting on the brakes, and swerving past him, stumbling to a stop. Clint just stared at him like he had come from another planet, and crossed his arms.

"Something good just happen?"

Peter nodded, and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

The Hawk nodded. "You look like it for some reason," he said flatly, and continued past him down the hall in long strides, entering his room, and shutting the door with a bang. Peter shook his head. That guy just really didn't like him, he guessed. Oh well, not going to let that ruin his good day. If anything was in danger of ruining his day, it was the headache beginning to tap at his temples and the persistent throbbing of the spider bite on his neck. It hadn't hurt this much since he was actually bitten, and he had no idea why it should be acting up now, unless it was just general inflammation throughout his body, which was not necessarily a bad thing, he had discovered...

"Morning, Peter," Steve greeted as he entered the breakfast room, and saw the Captain, Stark, and Bruce consuming various eatables at the bar, and chatting amiably. "Sleep well?"

"Not much, actually, but – er, I never sleep much," he hurried as Tony's gaze flashed to meet his and he realized it sounded like... exactly that. At least in Stark's ever-eager imagination.

"Well, you look ready to meet the world," Bruce chuckled, always glad for Peter's fun personality and youthful vigor to brighten the room.

"I feel like it, too," Peter said, rocking up on his toes and then back down again. "What's on the menu?"

"Stark's Special – help yourself," supplied Tony around a mouthful of oatmeal, which he professed to hate until Pepper showed him how to boil it in coffee and add lots of cream and nutmeg. Now it tasted almost like eggnog, and he'd never admit it, but it was nearing the top of his list.

"Alright," Peter agreed. "Sound's like a deal." He quickly fried himself an egg, complying with Steve's request for another while he was at the skillet, and slid his plate over to an empty seat, plopping down and dumping salt and pepper all over his piping-hot breakfast.

"Where's Guinevere?" Tony asked slyly.

Peter nearly choked on his mouthful of egg and coughed, squeaking, "Wow – it's the pepper I guess." His face was red – from coughing, of course – but he took a drink of milk and cleared his throat.

"What did you say?"

"I said, where's Queen Guinevere?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Sleeping, I guess."

Just then, Pepper entered the room barefooted and quiet, and startled the guys.

"Leave him alone, Anthony," she scolded. "Gwen's doing her work – I just saw her in the lab cleaning up your mess from yesterday."

Now it was Tony's turn to choke. "She's doing what?" He launched to his feet, overturning his chair, and dashed for the door. "I did that on purpose," he called over his shoulder, grabbing Pepper by the arm and dragging her out of the room with him, demanding, "Why are you letting her do that? That stuff isn't nearly finished, and if she start's moving it around then I swear I'll just –"

The rest of the team, soon joined by Clint, amused themselves with what Tony swore he would just do to Gwen, coming up with the most outlandish ideas, from bringing her with him to his next press conference and making suggestive remarks to making her dye her hair black and cut it off short.

Clint scowled. "Great," he said sarcastically. "Then if she wears green and walks around with you and Thor people will think it's Loki."

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and the room grew still, a silence pervading the air until it was broken by a familiar chuckle.

"Well, if it isn't my old comrades..." They turned and beheld Loki, standing in the center of the room, dressed in his usual Asgardian garb, the doing the unforgivable – smiling his enticing smile. "It has been a while."  
"What do you want, Loki," Bruce demanded evenly, standing, and crossing the room until they faced each other. "Because whatever it is, we're not likely to give it to you. Not after last time."

Peter watched in fascination, slowly slipping his hand up to feel the back of his neck where his bite continued to throb, and not taking his eyes from the dark-haired man in the middle of the room.

"Well, well, well, mention Asparagus and he appears," a voice said from the doorway. Loki turned to see Tony standing there with his arms crossed. "To what do we owe the honor?"

It gave Peter just the distraction that he needed to ease himself out of his seat, duck behind the bar and slip off his outer clothing. He pulled his hood down over his unruly hair and adjusted it so the eye openings were in place.

"So, you still consider it an honor to have me here?" Loki raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly. "I was beginning to wonder why I hadn't received a return invitation."

"Seriously?" Peter stood up, and Loki took a shocked step backwards, taking in the wiry red and blue figure that slowly approached him. "After what you did, you think they'd want you back?"

Loki bared his teeth. "You don't know what I did – you weren't here, you –"

"Spider-Man." Peter stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Loki glared. "I have not come on an idle pleasure visit. Where is Thor?"

"It seems you're playing a game of tag throughout the universes, Loki," Steve spoke up, cocking his head. "First Thor's looking for you, now you're looking for him."

Loki pointed a narrow finger in his direction. "Don't make jokes to me, man with a plan. It comes as no surprise that Thor seeks me in vain, but my powers are nearly limitless, and the only explanation as to why he still remains hidden from me was you." He turned to Tony. "The Man of Metal has many ways of using his knowledge to produce results akin to magic here in Midgard."

"Hey, Pepper, hear that? The god of mischief says that I'm almost as good as a Midgardian con artist," Tony called over his shoulder, advancing, and tapping his chest. "You see this?"

Loki sneered. "Your pride and joy."

"My baby. Keeps me alive, and more or less gives me the abilities that I have. That guy – " he nodded toward Spider-Man, "That guy's the real deal. Genetics give him his abilities."

"And hormones," grumbled Clint. Loki's gaze swiveled to lock with the Hawk's.

"So – you are feeling... how shall I put this... weary? Weary of being a part of this team of freakish mortals? At least you understand why I found it irksome here."  
"Except you know exactly why I find it irksome now," Clint hissed. "This is all your fault."

Loki shrugged. "A common sentiment – I don't mind if you adopt it." He looked around him in mock surprise. "Where is Lady Natasha?"

"I'll bet you know, Mr. All-Knowing Fella," Steve said, crossing his arms. "And if you don't, then it's none of your business."

Loki sucked in a breath. "Oh, but you know it is exactly my business."  
Spider-Man lifted his hands. "Somebody want to explain what's going on here? Where's Clark – I'm tired of feeling like a junior on Senior's night."

"We're not going to talk about that now," Tony said quickly. "We are going to find out what Loki wants, and I'll bet I already know. Tesseract still on your wish list?"

"I am daily closer to acquiring it."

"Said that seven months ago." Tony counted on his fingers. "-Eight."

"I have told you what I want – I want Thor, and if you are unable to provide me with any information concerning him, then I'm afraid I will have to – "

"What? Blow up New York City again? Break my Tower? I don't think so." Tony shook his head. "We don't know where Thor is. To prove it, we even got him a replacement."

"Easy, Stark," Steve said under his breath.

"No, it wasn't easy," Tony retorted. "It was hard. If you want to know how much work it took for me to find someone who could fill in for those two – your blondie brother and this, uh – " He skidded to a halt, seeing Bruce's glare. "Secret agent you seduced... then let me tell you, it was a nightmare of –"

Loki's normally pale face grew paler than usual, and he said in a hushed voice, laden with anger and suppressed emotion, "If you will not provide me with information concerning Thor, then so be it. But what of Natasha."

It was not a question. Tony' jaw dropped in disbelief.

"You honestly think we are going to tell you anything about her?"

"- If we knew anything?" Clint broke in.

Loki stared at him. "Ah..." he breathed. "But we do." He took a step toward Clint who put his hand quickly to the gun strapped to his thigh.

"That's enough," Bruce interrupted. "You guys are seriously going to regret this. Especially if you get me involved."

Clint observed with shock that sweat had broken out on Bruce's forehead, and his neck had a faint green tinge to it, his chest heaving with deep breaths.

"Guys, let's just – drop it," he began, but Loki continued, advancing on Hawkeye, his eyes glowing with jealous rage.

"I know everything about you, Barton, I know more than you know yourself. Remember, I was in your mind, once. And I could see everything that was there, those things locked up in secret chambers and ignored by even you!"

"That was not me, Loki, that was the evil influence of your mind on mine, and I had no more control over that than a mouse does over the cat that plays with it." Clint regretted more than anything not having put an arrow through Loki's eye socket last year when he had the chance.

"Uh – guys, let's – take this conversation elsewhere," Tony began, panic rising in his chest as he saw Bruce's hands clench and his eyes squeeze shut as he gasped for air and his knees began to buckle from beneath him.

"What's wrong with him?" Spider-Man demanded. "What's happening to him?"

"Seriously, let's just –" Tony's final remark was drowned out by the Hulk's deafening roar as he rose before them in all his terrible rage. Loki gulped. He recalled the last time he had been in Stark Tower with the Hulk, and it had not been a pleasant experience.

Steve grabbed Spider-Man by the shoulder and pulled him back out of the way as Tony hurriedly instructed his AI, "JARVIS, make sure that wherever Gwen and Pepper are, that they stay there, and under no circumstances come into the –"

"You are a liar!" the Hulk bellowed at Loki, the force of his breath nearly knocking him over.

"And you are an oaf!" Loki screamed back, taking a deep breath as the Hulk lowered his head to charge. Out of nowhere a red and blue figure blasted, crashing right through the transparent figure of Loki and right into Hulk's path.

"Peter!" Steve shouted, but it was too late – they collided just as Loki vanished completely, the Hulk's head burying itself into Peter's middle and carrying him across the room where he flew through the glass doors and crumpled into a heap in the hallway. He took a choking breath and looked up, seeming to see Loki once again before him.

"Get back–" he managed, getting only an echo of Loki's laughter in return as Tony shouted:

"No, kid! You don't know what's he's done!"

And then it was over – Bruce shrank back to his normal size and color, and was left shaking, and half-naked in the corner of the lounge, attended to by Clint with a throw blanket, as Tony and Steve waded through the broken glass to grab a hold of Peter and haul him out of harm's way. Peter groaned as Steve took a fistful of his suit and pulled, while Tony bent over him and pulled off his mask.

"You okay, kid?" He stopped short. Peter looked awful – both his lips were split and running blood, while a huge kiwi-sized lump was forming on his brow. His suit was slashed by the broken glass, and his legs were twisted grotesquely under him...

"Yeah, I think so," Peter wheezed, sucking in a breath as Tony grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into an upright position. "I – I think that was probably a bad idea."

Steve's face was the picture of concern. "Peter, Loki is evil, and he has no business being here. You don't have to try to save him."  
"I didn't know that," Peter muttered, standing unsteadily, and flickering a quick gaze around him. "Where did that thing go?"  
"Here," Clint spoke up from the corner where he guided Bruce to a chair, and watching him put his face into his shaking hands. "It was an accident."  
Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps and quick breathing were heard, cut short by the crunch of glass underfoot, and a gasp. Gwen stood frozen in the doorway, before bolting through, ignoring Steve's cries of caution, and kneeling at Peter's side.

"Oh my gosh, what just happened?" she implored, taking Peter's face in her hands as he gave her a pained lopsided grin, which turned into a grimace as he lifted a hand to feel his rapidly swelling forehead.

"JARVIS, I told you to keep Miss Stacy and Pepper downstairs!" Tony exploded to the artificial intelligence system. "How in the –"

"Not now, Tony," Pepper's voice stopped him, as she too hurried in, taking in at a glance the partially clad doctor shaking in the chair, the broken glass, the injured teenager being checked over by his girlfriend... "What just happened?"

"Loki stopped in for a visit," Tony snapped, causing Pepper to gasp.

"No – are you serious?"

Tony nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. "Peter, let's get you to the infirmary – you too, Bruce... Show's over, guys–"

"I'm fine," Bruce began weakly, but Tony pointed a finger at him.

"No, sir. Down you go. Let's get somebody in here to start cleaning up this mess."

Pepper and Steve immediately started arguing about how neither of them needed to be down on their hands and knees among broken glass while Gwen helped Peter to the elevator, followed by Clint with Bruce, with Tony bringing up the rear. The doors opened, to reveal Clark, who stared in shock.

"Did I miss something?" he managed at last.

"Move it, we're on a mission here," Tony said, "Pepper or Spangle-britches will explain. We're out of Chex, too, by the way, if that's what you were thinking."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Gwen whispered into Peter's ear as the elevator began to move. He nodded slowly, and then leaned in for a kiss, his broken lips gingerly touching hers.

"Always," he whispered back.

 


	16. Natasha's Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I must add... my gratitude to you for the attention with which you have listened to me, for, from my numerous observations... [we] are never capable of letting anyone else have a conviction of his own without at once meeting their opponent with abuse or even something worse."
> 
> -Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Clint stayed stuck his head in the infirmary several more times that day to check up on the attacker and his victim, and then took out his anger at Loki's visit with a few hours of target practice in the range Stark had designed especially for him on one of the upper floors. He didn't believe Loki's visit was really about Thor for a minute. He tried to ignore Loki's words which kept playing through his head, and focus his attention on what he was doing, but after he hit the target a fraction of a centimeter off-center three times in a row and checked his bow, he realized that it was indeed, him. He was off – literally. It was probably owing to the day's earlier events, but still, as night fell and he realized there was nothing left he could do except take a shower and go to bed, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that settled in his joints and flickered on the insides of his eyelids when he forced them shut and tried to induce sleep.

It very nearly worked when his cell-phone began buzzing on the side table and reached for it, rubbing his stinging eyes and looking at the screen which lit up and displayed Natasha's number. He quickly sat up and answered, his voice eager.

"Natasha!"

"Hi." There was a long pause, and Clint's ears strained for her voice over the connection.

"Well – what's going on?" he finally demanded. Natasha sounded like she was clenching her jaw as she finally replied, "Clint – it's happening."

His mind quickly registered what she meant. It was happening. Now. "How long has it been going on?"

There was another long pause, and she said, her voice strange, "Since about nine o'clock this morning."

 _The time of Loki's visit,_  Clint realized. "Why in the world have you been waiting this long? Are you at the hospital?"

"We're on our way," she said. Clint rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath.

"You are crazy to wait like this. Do you want me to come?"

"No." Her answer was quick, hard, and cold. Her voice had the edge of steel. "No, don't come."

"Alright. I won't. Are you okay?"  
There was another long pause, and then he could hear Natasha take a long gasping breath. "It hurts worse than anything I've ever been through."

His throat ached – he wanted to be there with her, to hold her hand...

"I'm sorry," he found himself saying. "But don't worry, you'll be fine. Remember – this means it's almost over. Everything's in place."

There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing. Finally she forced out, through her teeth, no doubt, "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," he urged. "Gosh, Nat, you have been through hell, and I mean that. Women do this every day around the world –"

" Barton – you're not helping me," she said, her voice increasing in pitch.

"Okay – what I meant was you aren't an ordinary woman. You can do this. You have to. I know that you can."

There was no reply, and he asked, "Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?"

There was a commotion on the other end of the line, and Natasha breathed, her voice as light and thin as a puff of air, "No – we're here now."

"Alright. Call me when it's over. Or after you've rested a bit. Okay? That's an order, Agent."

Natasha nodded as she was helped from the car, and then realized that he couldn't hear her nod.

"Okay," she managed. "I've got to go, bye." There was a click, and the connection went dead. Clint stared into the darkness of his room, his mind whirling multiple directions, each at a thousand miles a minuteper hour. He set his phone on the side table and got up, pulling on his clothes just in case. Then he just sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

* * *

"Natasha – we're going to put you under now. This is the only way – okay? We want this to be a safe as possible for both you and the baby." A face bent over Natasha. She gritted her teeth as another stab of pain hit, this one so long she gasped for breath before it was over, and thought she simply couldn't make it through another.

"Remind me again what you're going to do," she said through clenched teeth as vial was screwed into the I.V. they attached to her arm.

"It's basically like a Cesarean section – your uterus is damaged and is not in a good enough condition to sustain a normal birth."

Natasha nodded. "Alright." She intended to say, "Bring it on," but she was out before the words left her lips...

_The snow was thick upon the ground, hiding the grime of the streets, and making the city look almost beautiful. The biting wind had died down, and the frigid temperature was the only thing keeping the people of St. Petersburg off the streets this evening._

_A small red-headed figure swathed in a too-large coat, a too-short scarf, and tattered pants tucked into beaten-in boots hurried down the sidewalk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, hiding her bare and wind-chafed hands in her armpits, and not looking to the right or left as she walked. Her foot bumped against something hard hidden in the snow and she stumbled, her arms flying out to regain her balance as she cursed under her breath, and continued on her way, a glare firmly set on her young face._

_A pair of deep blue eyes seemed to hover before her vision. Alexei Shostakov, Soviet test pilot. The man she was engaged to marry. The KGB may not have been a good replacement for parents – she still had nightmares about the factory fire, the burning inferno, the screams, and the smoke that all the brainwashing and false memories with which she had been endowed before deployment could not erase – but Department X sure knew how to match up people. She knew it was for the good of Russia, and therefore it would be for her good as well. Although sometimes she had trouble understanding what good even was anymore._

_Natalia Alianova Romanova was her name, but from a very early age she answered to the alias of Black Widow, derived from the name of the training op that conditioned her for espionage and combat. She was bio-and psycho-technically altered her to serve her country. And she couldn't be prouder. She would never admit to it anyone, but though she did love her country, she had entertained brief ideas of romance with a foreigner, one of her mentors, who went by the name of the Winter Soldier. She had first discovered him when he was in cryogenic stasis at KGB headquarters. She cringed to think of the primitive methods she had used in releasing him, and as a result, got them both caught. Eventually he became her tutor, and the only pity that was not trained out of her she secretly held on to and lavished on him, for his mind had been damaged by his past life, and he had no memories whatsoever, nor could he recall information for more than a few days. After being sent on a special operation, Natalia had returned to find that the Winter Soldier had no idea who she was, and she gave up on the ideas of romance she had unconsciously fostered, killing them and filling every void in herself with duty. And that is exactly what the Red Room division of KGB wanted._

_Now, they had decided that a union between the two – this special forces agent who at the age of fourteen already had a blossoming reputation as a femme fatale, and this duteous young test pilot – would be of great advantage to them. Although the girls brainwashed by the Red Room usually underwent sterilization as a side effect of the serum with which they were injected – a variant on Hydra's famous super-soldier serum – one could never be certain. The girls were never told this, but a marriage would be a strong bond in more ways than one. A perfect link between divisions._

_They met the previous week. Alexei was the farthest thing from a romantic that one could imagine, but this girl found a way of arousing something in him with that mysterious trickery of hers that she could use on the most reticent of victims. And she found his gaze hypnotic and pleasing. Although forbidden to use each others' real names, Shostakov had whispered after they were given the papers proving they were legally married, "Natalia," in her ear briefly as they parted, and she had mouthed,"Alexei," back to him, and stood,, sober and silent on the runway until his plane lifted off and was out of sight in the gray winter sky._

_Natalia turned down an alleyway, and pushed through a broken chain-link fence, weaving her way through nondescript rubble and debris blown from all over the city by the strong chill wind until she reached a grating hidden in a rough wall, and let herself through._

_The corridor was dark and damp, the cinder block floor making no sound underneath her quiet tread as she crossed a large room lit by yellow electrical lights mounted on the walls, and ascended a rickety metal staircase in the gloom. Shostakov was waiting for her at the top._

_"I thought you were going to be away for months," she said, crossing her arms, and keeping her voice low._

_"They don't have to tell you what is going on. They don't have to tell me. Give me a kiss." He pulled her into an embrace that drove the chill ache from her bones and poured warmth through her body right down to her toes. She touched her lips to his, and he held her there for a long moment before releasing her, and beckoning for her to follow him. He disappeared out an open window and scaled the side of the building, looking up as Natalia's strong lithe form appeared dark against the snow following his example, and landing with a thump beside him. He grasped her wrists and lifted her up so that her feet rested on the tops of his boots, and holding her around the waist, strode quickly through the snow, leaving one set of footprints. He did not release her until they were in a cleverly disguised aircraft hangar, and then she clambered up into the open cockpit of as USSR plane, Alexei doing the same. They sat in the cramped space in silence, their breath making puffs of fog in the air before them._

_"You're going again?" she said at last._

_He nodded. "You are too, only somewhere else. Budapest, I think."_

_"You should mind your own business." This time she kissed him, but he turned away._

_"And I won't be coming back."_

_Natalia's fine eyebrows drew together. "You don't know that. Did they tell you?_

_He nodded. "I'm sorry. You'll be alright."_

_Now it was her turn to nod. Suddenly, he seized her arms._

_"Come with me. You can stow in the extra fuel compartment."_

_"No. I can't. I have work here." There was a brief pause, and then she asked, "What happened to you?"_

_Alexei shook his head. "I fell in love."_

_"Love is for children," she muttered, and he met her eyes._

_"And you are...?"_

_"I'm the Widow."_

_"It will really be true now."_

_She climbed out of the cockpit and onto the wing, turning, and meeting his deep blue eyes one last time._

_"You do your duty to Russia, and I'll do mine," he said, giving her a rare smile._

_She nodded. "In that, we'll be together."_

_A fleeting shadow passed over his face. "That doesn't matter. As long as we do our duty. We will always be in debt, and the most we can give is not enough. Not even together."_

_With a jolt, the propellers on his plane started up, and Natalia jumped from the wing, striding off across the hangar without a backward glance._

* * *

_"Natalie Rushman." She nodded. "Sounds American."_

_"It is you that must sound American," the voice on the other end of the wire snarled. "You are our best assassin, and our only chance."_

_Natasha – she had changed her name years ago, reverting to Romanova – since she never really took the name Shostakov anyway – broke into a string of perfectly American sounding English that was lost upon her listener. He scoffed._

_"Let's hope that was good," he said._

_"It was," Natasha answered calmly. "Do you want me to do Italian, Polish, or Latin next?" There was a sigh of frustration, and she smiled._

_"Just get it done. Don't report back until you're in."_

_"Understood," she snapped, and hung up. Stark Industries. This was going to be interesting. Aboard the unmarked plane taking her to the U.S., Natasha reviewed all the information she had been given about the company – founder, key innovations, current contracts– as well as rested. She was going to lose eight hours in time zones during the flight, and tried to get some shut-eye along the way, but somehow she was not surprised when sleep did not come. They were 35,000 feet above Budapest when there was a commotion in the cabin, and the plane shuddered. Natasha sat up in her chair and kicked her bag out of the way, nearly toppling off her feet when she stood in the aisle as the plane began a steep descent. Something was definitely wrong._

_"What's going on?" she demanded, hammering on the door to the cockpit, and receiving no response. Using a small device on her utility belt, she quickly disengaged the lock and shoved open the door, taking in the sight before her. The instrument panels were damaged, and one was flashing haphazardly as the KGB pilot sat slumped over in his chair, his headset askew. Then she saw him – a short-haired man dressed in black with an eagle insignia on his sleeve – holding an automatic pistol, and armed with every sort of weapon one could imagine. He advanced on her, but Natasha quickly subdued him with a well-aimed punch and a kick to his soft spot. He doubled over groaning and gasping for breath, as she wrenched his arms behind his back._

_"What is going on?" she demanded again._

_"This plane has to come down," he managed._

_"_ Idi k chertu _," she snapped. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?"_

_"You'll find out – in Budapest," he growled. She gave him a shove into the aisle of the plane's main cabin and slammed the door behind her, lifting the dead pilot out of the way, and taking control of the cockpit. A silent co-pilot had been watching the whole thing in quiet horror, and he spoke at last as Natasha took her eyes off the instrument panel long enough to snatch the headset from the pilot's skull and put it on, quickly wiping away the trickle of blood that ran down from her temple. His voice shook._

_"Do you know how to fly this?"_

_"You bet I do," she replied. "Now, take a seat, this is going to be a bumpy ride." Moments later a timed grenade detonated itself in the right wing, causing the plane to lurch dangerously as it lost altitude._

_"We are going to die, we are going to die..." chanted the co-pilot, trembling uncontrollably and shaking his head back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut. "We are going to die –"_

_"Shut up," Natasha barked. "If somebody wants us to pay a visit to Budapest, then Stark is just going to have to wait. Obviously, this was meant to happen."_

_"Who was that man? How did he get here?"_

_"We'll figure it out later," Natasha said, focusing her gaze on the control panel and answering the prompt on her headset._

_"Altitude 13,000 feet and dropping, give me a soft landing site," she said, adding, "And contact the base, this will give us some delay."_

_"Do you duty, Romanova," the voice at the other end instructed. "Vanko will do his."_

_"_ Bozhe moĭ _," she muttered as they broke through the clouds and the ground raced toward them._


	17. Budapest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be a woman is a great adventure;  
> To drive men mad is a heroic thing."
> 
> -Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

_Natasha emerged from the wreckage and immediately tried to contact the Russian base, but her communicator's signal had been knocked out in the explosions following the crash, and it was about all she could do to drag the traumatized co-pilot from the wreckage and give him a shove toward the city, and tell him,"Start walking. Have you been trained for this or not?"_

_She waded in among the crunched remains of smoking debris and located the assassin, grabbing him by an arm, and yanking him free of the ruined plane. His black uniform caught on a jagged piece of metal and tore. He remained unresponsive while Natasha threw him onto the grass and examined his face from which blood ran. He did not move. Natasha turned away. Dead men gave no answers to her questions, she had discovered. Drat._

_The tall pointed spires of the city rose before her in the setting sun's glow, and it would have all been picturesque except for the burns and bruises she had sustained, the flaming plane behind her, and the fact that she was sent on a mission and crash landed 1,747 km out, less than a fourth of the way to her destination._

_The Danube river divided the city into two parts, and Natasha set out on foot, crossing the Chain Bridge after a long walk, and looking around her at the historical buildings mixed in with modern structures. It reminded her of her hometown, rather, what she had been told was her hometown. Memories were deceptive. She wondered what New York City would be like really – she had studied pictures and maps until she could almost convince herself she lived there, but still, atmosphere goes a long way, and it isn't something you can get from 2D images._

_Pedestrians thronged around her, and some of them gave her strange looks which she pretended not to notice as she hurried on through the crowds, trying to shake the feeling that someone was following her. Several times she turned around ready to detonate a volley of kicks or punches at any nosy local, but each time she did it, she only got more funny looks. She set her jaw and walked on._

_Natasha didn't stop until she reached a long stretch along the river that contained a series of high-end hotels, and after helping herself to an abandoned old-fashioned iverness tossed over the back of a bench and throwing it on over her scorched clothing, walked into the lobby of one that bore the name "Sofitel" in bright letters on the top of the tower._

_She showed her false identification, choosing to go ahead with the Natalie Rushman, new personal assistant to Tony Stark of Stark Industries en route to New York ploy, and got herself checked into a room in one of the higher floors. There she was able to sit in peace and quiet and decide what should be done – and watch the flashing lights and sirens make their way out of the brightly-lit city to the wreck site._

_"They have no idea..." she muttered to herself, stopping short as she heard a click, and a voice spoke, hard and determined._

_"Stand up and put your hands over your head."_

_She froze, and slowly turned from the window to see the man – the man that hijacked the Soviet plane – the man drug from the wreckage and she thought was dead... She cursed under her breath, cursing herself for not checking his vital signs before leaving him at the site. Blood still stuck to the side of his head, and one of the sleeves of his black uniform had been completely torn away. She was face to face with the point of an arrow set firmly on the bowstring drawn back to his jaw._

_"What will you do if I don't?" she said calmly, giving him the alluring gaze that so often did a double-take on certain men. "I don't really feel like it."_

_"Against the wall, then." He was unfazed. "And take off the coat." She crossed her arms as he drew closer, the the automatic light on his bow's grip glowing red in the gloom._

_"Is this payback for what I did to you on the plane? There's four walls in here, mister, how am I supposed to –"_

_"There." He pointed quickly with his arrow, and then trained it back on her. "Do it."_

_Slowly, Natasha rose to her feet, and went and stood with her back against the far wall, shedding the iverness as she went, and putting a little swing in her walk. The man lowered his bow, but kept the arrow fitted securely on the string, and said in an even voice, "Natalie Rushman, isn't it? Or should I say, Natasha Romanov?"_

_"How do you know this," she growled, beginning to advance on him, reaching for her hidden stiletto, but he quickly raised his bow, the arrow making a metallic noise as it was redrawn and aimed at her neck._

_"I wouldn't do that if I were you. We have been tracking you for some time."_

_"Who's we?"_

_"S.H.I.E.L.D."_

_"Sounds like a great organization. Too bad I won't be learning any more about them," Natasha said, meeting his gaze. "Go on. Just get it over with."_

_Something flashed through his eyes, and it took Natasha a moment to realize that it was not shock at how nonchalantly she faced death._

_"You will be learning more about them," he said in a low voice. "You are being recruited as their newest secret agent."_

_"Thanks, but I already have a job."_

_"Remember the conditions?" He raised his eyebrows, and at last she nodded, realizing there was literally nothing else she could do. She hated the feeling. The man lowered his bow, and replaced the arrow in the quiver strapped across his back, producing a pair of handcuffs._

_"Turn around."_

_She did so, and heard him mutter as he attached them onto her wrists, "I could very well lose my job over this."_

_"Then why are you doing it?"_

_He spun her around until they were nose to nose, and she could smell the sour-sweet scent of the dried blood on the side of his face. They locked eyes for a long time until finally he looked away, and gave her a push._

_"Start walking."_

_Natasha glared at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that lined the hallways of the hotel as she was escorted to a waiting black car, and put in the back seat. Her captor took his place in the passenger's side and she heard the driver ask in a low voice,"Barton, you were sent to kill this assassin?"_

_"Just drive," Natasha heard him mutter back._

* * *

_For a moment Natasha's eyes opened and she could not remember where she was. Still she would awake from a nightmare, having no idea where she was, or what had happened to get her there. This was one of those times... being recaptured by the Red Room, and resuming her mission to Stark Tower, trying to pit her rescuer against Iron Man... being reconditioned and brainwashed yet again only to at last break free with the help of Hawkeye, the ever-faithful... and now, she didn't know just what was going on. Her entire body ached, and a bright light was blinding her from every direction it seemed. She took a deep breath and pressed her eyes back shut again as she heard someone enter the room, and let herself slip back into oblivion..._

_The rest of her thoughts blurred as the city of Budapest flashed by her and she had no idea what happened – if she passed out, or if she went back to sleep – because for a moment she was in an incredible amount of pain and she thought she was getting her wounds attended to, but then she heard the sounds of gunfire, and opened her eyes. Hawkeye bent over her, his gaze intense._

_"Tash, get up. More are coming. Are you okay?"_

_It took her a moment to realize he had called her "Tash " – a new nickname. Over the next year as she was trained for work undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D. with Barton, the two had developed a strange sort of friendship, and although she would have knocked out anyone who may have tried to be romantic or familiar with her after her experiences with the Winter Soldier and Shostakov, for some reason she allowed Barton to do it. It sounded right coming from him – all the other times it had just been wrong._

_He helped her to her feet and she blinked, assessing the situation as she tried to ignore the searing pain in her stomach. She pressed a hand to it and it came away sticky with dark blood._

_"We have to stop them," she panted, and so there they stood, side by side, taking the fire of an enemy army, and together feeling the rush of impending victory in their blood. The Hawk did not regret sparing Agent Romanov's life, and she had proved to be valuable indeed, in more ways than one..._

* * *

_Natasha sat in silence next to Clint as he wept. She knew that he could not hear her, the sonic blast rendering him temporarily deaf, something the doctors assured him would pass in time, a matter of weeks, even, but she lay a hand on his heaving shoulders and simply let her presence soothe him. Bobbi Morse, know to all as Mockingbird, Clint's wife, had been killed in the blast from one of his own sonic arrows, and Clint insisted, his voice strange, that he could never forgive himself. Too late he had realized what was happening and he leapt into the building to try and snatch the arrow away and pitch it out a window before it detonated, but Bobbi was there first, her eyes wide, grasping the arrow, just as it blew. She had been trying to save his life. And he had killed her._

_"Shhh..." Natasha whispered, her fingers going to and fro over the back of his neck as he took deep trembling breaths. "It was just a dream."_

_"No – it was real," he said, sitting up, and meeting her gaze with red tear-blurred eyes. "It really happened."_

_"But it was several weeks ago,"she murmured. "And they want you back out on the field as soon as your hearing is recovered."_

_Clint shook his head. "I can just barely hear you," he choked. Natasha's heart ached for him, and now more than ever she wished that she was not the way that she was – a hardened warrior, a ruthless assassin. Her type didn't make a very good comforter or grief counselor._

_"It was not your fault," she said at last, repeating it for him when he turned in confusion. "It was not your fault."_

_He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "Yes, it was. Now, stop saying that. I will deal with this in my own way, in my own time."_

_And Natasha knew he was right._

 

Natasha's eyes flew open, and her mind reeled – Clint – Bobbi... why did she feel like she had just been run over by a truck...

"Hey, there," a face bent over her. "You doing alright? Can I get you anything?"

"Is it over?" she managed, reaching down and realizing that she was ...smaller. The doctor nodded.

"Everything went well. You still abide by your earlier wishes? You don't want to see –"

"No." Her gaze went still. "Where is it?"

"In the neonatal I.C.U. He sustained a slight neck trauma during the procedure," the doctor said.

 _He._ Natasha squinched her eyes closed and gritted her teeth.  _Just shut up,_ was what she was thinking, but she managed a nod, and then said, "Hand me my phone? There's someone I need to call."


	18. A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Truth is confirmed by inspection and delay, falsehood by haste and uncertainty."
> 
> -Tacitus

"Peter – Peter..." Gwen shook his shoulder gently, leaning down into his face and staring at his sleepy features "Peter."

"Hm?" he grumbled. "Mm. Hi, Gwen." He flopped his face back into the pillow, and then muttered, "How did you get in here anyway..."

"I have access to all of the Tower's files. It comes in handy." She shook him again. "It's late, lazybones. Time to get up."

"Yes, mom," he grinned, rolling over, his eyes still shut. Peter had been drawing out his "recovery time" from the accidental Hulk attack as long as possible, and Gwen thought it was getting to be a little much. But he was unexplainably tired all the time... He told her so.

Gwen flicked her bangs out of her eyes. "That's what happens when you lay around too long,"

He cocked a brow and snorted.

"No, really. Your body gets into a bad habit, and you feel tired. Besides, you always say that skateboarding gives you energy, right? After a long day at school?" She put her hands on her hips. "So, there you have it, Mr. Scientist. Prove it yourself."

"Okay, okay," Peter said, sitting up and clearing his throat. He winced. Something definitely did not feel right in there, so he tried again, and this time it turned into a cough.

Gwen looked back from the doorway. "Peter, are you sick?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "You're right, I'd better get up."

"Not if you're sick."

Peter chuckled. "Now you're singing a different tune."

"Just pay attention to how you're feeling, and take into account all the factors and differing variables. No science jokes, please, this is real."

"Okay." He nodded and extended a hand helplessly. She rolled her eyes and hauled him to his feet.

"Come on, you missed breakfast already."

"Did you go on without me?"

Gwen shook her head. "No, I'm not really hungry today."

"Aw," Peter cooed. "I thought you were going to say you waited up for me." He tried to kiss her but she kept talking, which made it rather difficult:

"And if I did, you'd be mad at me. You'd say, 'What? You don't have to wait up for me!'" Her imitation of Peter's tone of voice was so perfect that even he laughed and said, stealing a quick nip from her lips, "Alright, tell them I'm coming. Saving the world will have to wait."

Gwen called over her shoulder, already on the way out, "I wouldn't sneeze at that if I were you. Not after what they've been hearing about Loki and the Tesseract. He's in contact with somebody who's got it, they think."

"Tell me that again later when I can actually hear you," Peter called, wincing, and putting a hand to his chest.

He was still a little tender from his old wounds there, but this time it felt like something else, lungs maybe. Breathing was a little painful. He decided to ignore it and hurriedly splashed off his face in the bathroom, making his usual mess, and then mindlessly sopping it up with a towel, his mind wandering over the events of the week, and his role in the Avengers. If it really came to open war, would he be able to keep up with them? After all, they were soldiers, spies, and battle-seasoned warriors – he was a masked vigilante who used to catch criminals. He pulled on his suit and fastened his web-shooters, heading to the target range for some practice.

He wasn't sure if it was arrogance or stupidity – of if they were one and the same – but he noticed that all the other Avengers trained, worked out, or practiced in some way, shape, or form every day. Sometimes even twice a day. Steve ran several miles each day and went through punching bags the way most people went through trash bags. Tony had a boxing instructor that came and was beaten up once a week and in between did strength training and rehearsed complicated maneuvers in his suit. Clark had a complicated working-out routine that took over an hour, (as did Black Widow, he heard), and Clint engaged in both target practice and his own type of free-running that reminded Peter of parkour. He supposed that Thor didn't really need any practice other than the work-out he got through fighting, but even Bruce had good eating habits and regularly went for jogs.

Peter, however, did none of that. He supposed that the others thought him proud and self-assured and that he thought he just didn't need any practice to be in peak condition, or that they thought he was stupid, and were just hoping that one day when they needed him they wouldn't be disappointed. But he was a teenager – wiry from his skateboarding, and naturally muscular, and he felt his form improve each time he climbed a building or swung from a web line. It wasn't that he thought he was above working out – he just didn't seem to need it. Oh well – he did want to make sure his web-shooters were still in good order.

Peter entered the training area, which was vacant on account of the late hour. After satisfying himself that the distance, strength and accuracy of the shooters were correct, he caught sight of a chin-up bar and took off running, vaulting smoothly over it, catching himself with the second bar at his waist, swinging around like a gymnast, and then reversing the maneuver just as easily. When he came up his head was spinning.

"What's going on?" he muttered. "That's weird." He decided that it was probably because he'd had nothing to eat and it was nearing 11 o'clock, and so he made his way to the kitchen, gingerly feeling his lower back as he went, an area that was also troubling him with a deep throbbing ache.

He pulled off his hood and tossed it onto the counter, seeing that Pepper was the only one in the room, seated on the far sofa with a tablet in her lap, busily tapping away, and comparing the screen with a large file she had spread out beside her.

"Morning, Peter," she greeted without looking up. "Everybody is out already – Tony had a meeting with a contractor and he took everybody with him so afterward they could stop off at S.H.I.E.L.D's base." She waved a hand. "Catch Director Fury up on all the news about the Tesseract. Black Widow is being sent out into the field again soon for a couple missions before she returns for good. You know, you've been with us for almost a year – Are you okay?" she broke off, seeing Peter's face which was a shade paler than normal, and the dark circles under his eyes.

"Yeah, just tired," he admitted. "Somethin' weird is going on. I think I might be coming down with something."

"Well, take it easy, then. Can I do anything for you?"

"No, thanks. Where's Gwen?"

Pepper didn't answer, but slowly finished what she was doing and then set aside her work, looking up at the teenager, her face serious.

"Peter, I know that your mom has been out of your life for pretty much as long as you could remember. I'll bet your aunt is great, but she isn't here right now. So, as the only woman around here, do you mind if I give you a little advice?"

"Sure," Peter shrugged, adding cheekily, "-if you think I need it."

"Are you sleeping at night, or are you doing – other things?"

Peter's face grew red. "No – I mean... yes – well... once. But that was a while ago. We haven't done it since. I don't know why I'm so tired."

Pepper nodded slowly, musing aloud, "I'm glad that you and Gwen are together. But – just don't let Tony's ideas of romance taint your relationship."

Peter laughed. "Taint?"

"You know – he's a very... physical person. There are a lot more aspects to a relationship than that."

"Oh, yeah, I know. Like I look at the Black Widow and Hawkeye – when I first met her and then saw them work together on a mission – and I realized that they've got something good going on there even if it's not what most people consider a romance." He stopped short, feeling like he was preaching, but Pepper was nodding.

"No, you're right. You're a smart kid, Peter, but you're also wise." She stood up, and crossed the room, giving him a quick hug. "That's important too, and not everybody has both."

And with that, she left the room leaving Peter with a glowy feeling inside. He wondered where Gwen always was when he had an important moment to share with her. He suddenly realized she probably thought the same about him.

* * *

The Team returned later that day with grave faces, and went about their preparations which looked to be for something serious, talking in low voices. Peter knew they would tell him when he needed to know, even though he was tempted to feel a little out of it, since Clark had gone with them and was obviously in on the action.

Gwen tapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie. "Peter? What do you think?"

He shook his head to clear his foggy thoughts, and grinned at her. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear that."

"I said, do you want to come with me on a walk? We could go to the park for a little bit." Peter noticed that there was something up with Gwen in the way that she said it, so he turned to face her.

"What is it?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're weird. We never go on walks."

"Well, I feel like it today. The fresh air will be nice – if you want to go, that is," she hedged. Peter shrugged. "Sure, if that's what you want."  
"You're up to it?"

He laughed. "Stop worrying about me."

"Hey, JARVIS, we're headed out for a little while," Peter called as they crossed the lobby on the ground floor of the tower. "Just in case anyone's wondering what happened to us. We'll be back before dark."

"Very good, Mr. Parker."

Peter grimaced at Gwen, and then winced.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"Headache," he replied. "It'll be okay though."

"You're just falling apart, aren't you," Gwen teased as they stepped forth onto the busy streets of Manhattan and took off in the direction of the park. "Tell me if you want to go back."

Peter considered. "I want to go back. I didn't say goodbye to everybody, and I'd kinda like to see Black Widow one more time."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. We don't have to walk fast," she hurried to add as Peter's pace increased.

"Well, we did promise to be back before dark," Peter said. "If we want to be at the park for any time at all we'd better hurry, unless you just want to take it easy."

"I don't feel like walking fast," Gwen said quietly. "We'll get there when we get there."

Peter stopped and turned to face her. "Are you coming down with something too? What's wrong?You're the fastest walker I know– I can barely keep up with you."

Gwen shook her head. "I – I don't want to wear you out."

Peter realized that he was probably annoying her so he dropped the topic and they made their way through the city, chatting at intervals, and just taking in the hustle and bustle around them. Finally the inviting green of the park opened up before them, and they joined the other people taking walks along the twisting sidewalks or sitting on blankets and benches. They reached a bench underneath a large planetree and Gwen took a seat, Peter following her example.

"So, what's this really about?" Peter's brown eyes met hers, shining honest in the light of the setting sun. Gwen looked away, watching the passersby, and letting her gaze linger on a couple holding hands as they walked in the auburn evening light.

"I'm not fooling you, am I," she said softly, making a sound similar to a laugh, even while her face was sober and her eyes were large with pent-up thoughts.

"Should you be?"

She shook her head. "No. But let's just hope that everybody else doesn't know me as well as you do."

Peter took her hand and kissed it, leaning in close to her, and reaching his arm around the back of the bench. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," she laughed hoarsely, tucking her face under his chin. "But I'd better." She pulled out of his embrace and turned to look at him. Peter's eyebrows lifted and he resisted the urge to smile at her serious behavior... whatever it was –

"Peter –" She met his eyes and took both his hands, and Peter's heart sank. He thought,  _This is it, she is going to break up with me... my worst fear is finally –_

Gwen looked away and took a deep breath, her hands shaking almost imperceptibly in his. Peter took his hand away and quickly scratched his forehead before returning it, and saying in a low voice, "It's okay – I understand if you –"

"No – no..." Gwen shook her head vehemently, and when she stopped, Peter saw that her eyes were glowing through a veil of tears. "It's not that. It's –"

Peter leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, feeling her shake, and her voice drifted up to him in the cool evening breeze:

"I think I might be pregnant."

Peter froze, and he could practically feel her heart sink in her chest. He shut his eyes, and then heard his voice as if it came from another person.

"What..." It was thin and sounded like he was about to faint. He leaned back and his eyes searched hers.

"Gwen – why – how... are you –"

She shook her head and wiped away a tear that had escaped and ran down her cheek. "I'm not positive. But the last two months, I missed..." She trailed off in embarrassment, and resumed, "For a while I threw up in the mornings–"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Peter demanded. "I didn't know you were sick."

"I didn't want you to be mad," she whispered.

"That you were sick?"

"About the reason."

And before Peter knew what he was doing, he pulled Gwen into a tight hug, and resisted the urge to cough as she buried her face silently in his chest. He stroked her light hair away from her ear, and finally lifted her up so he could see her face which was red and streaked with tears.

"Did you really think I'd be mad?"

Gwen nodded.

"That I'd be mad at you?"

She hesitated for a minute. "That you'd be mad at yourself. You know – not being responsible, and all that."

She was right. A plethora of feelings tumbled around inside Peter and he was at a loss for words. He could just imagine what his Uncle Ben would say...

_"It's the guy's responsibility in these things. No matter what anyone else tries to tell you, it is up to you. If anything happens, it is your fault, and you have to take responsibility for the outcome."_

He met her gaze. "You are right. I don't really know what to think. But I'm not mad. If anything, I just feel kinda stupid." He dropped his head to his hands, and rubbed his eyes hard. "You sure you're not just playing a mean joke on me?"

Gwen made an astonished noise. "Peter, you know I would never –"

"I know, I know," he muttered. "I just – it's so cliche. One time... and then –"

He sat there in silence and Gwen folded her hands across her chest, bowing her head so the passersby would not see her tears.

"Do you – do you want me to get it taken care of?" she managed at last, her voice thick with suppressed sobs. "Because I will. I don't want this to happen unless you are with me in it."

Peter lifted his head, his eyes red, and his face a little swollen. "I was with you in it from the beginning," he whispered. "I'm still with you in whatever happens."

They embraced, and Peter shut his eyes, a wave of exhaustion – emotional and physical washing over him.

"Should we head back now?" he said quietly, feeling Gwen puff a deep breath into his hair.

"Yeah, I guess we should. I feel a lot better now that you know."

Peter stood and pulled her to her feet, grabbing her hand.

"Kiss?" he asked, and she answered on her tiptoes. When they finished, ignoring the pedestrians that were forced to walk around them in the sidewalk, he met her gaze, his eyes welling up. A sob caught in Gwen's throat.

"Peter – don't..." she whispered as he buried his face in her neck and started to sob quietly. "It's going to be okay, it's gonna be fine," Gwen soothed, rubbing her hands down his back. "Please don't do this."

He pulled out of her embrace and broke into a watery smile. "It's just – I'm gonna be a dad," he whispered. "That's so... amazing."

Gwen's eyes filled up in her turn, but she took a deep breath and looked away for a second.

"You really think so?" she finally asked in a quaking voice.

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."


	19. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was your destiny - let us hope it will prove a glorious one."
> 
> -E.D.E.N. Southworth

They decided to keep it a secret – for as long as they could. Gwen called her mom, and Peter called his Aunt May, and they took the news pretty well, knowing that Peter and Gwen planned on being married as soon as the Avengers project was over and Gwen finished her internship. But while Gwen began to feel better and better, Pepper cornering her and guessing the girl's secret one morning, causing her to blush and hide her face as Pepper pulled her into an joyous big-sisterly embrace and promised silence, Peter began to feel worse.

Early one morning he awoke to find himself so stiff that he could hardly move, and he realized with growing alarm that he couldn't feel his extremities at all. He called for Gwen through JARVIS, and she hurried into the room, her slightly protruding stomach visible under the thin camisole she wore with a pair of his p.j. pants. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, and pushed his hair back from his pale brow.

"Peter, what's wrong?" she asked in concern, stroking his forehead which was clammy and hot.

"I don't know," he managed. "I can't feel anything, and I can hardly move."

"This is not normal," Gwen announced in a loud voice. "JARVIS, send for Bruce – I want him in on this. Peter, sweetie, why haven't you been telling anyone you still feel bad? No one knew."

"I don't feel bad, I feel terrible," he said with a slight smile. "It's probably nothing. You should go now, I don't want to get you sick, or anything."

Gwen shook her head. "If I haven't gotten it by now it's not catching. I don't want to leave you." Just then there was a knock on the door, and Gwen opened it to reveal Bruce, a bathrobe hurriedly dumped on over his tshirt and sleep shorts.

"Sorry to wake you up so early, Bruce, but something is seriously going on with Peter," Gwen said. "He needs to go the infirmary and have some tests run. We don't know what in the world is going on."

Bruce blinked, realizing as he knelt beside the bed that he had forgotten to grab his glasses on the way out. He rubbed at his eyes and knelt by the bed.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, feeling Peter's neck, which was hot, and his hands, which were cold.

"A while now – about three months I guess."

_Since the Hulk attack_ , Gwen was thinking, although she didn't say it aloud, but Peter was thinking,  _Since that night we..._  He wasn't in a very good position to say anything.

"Alright, Peter– let's get you down to the infirmary. Gwen – help me," Bruce instructed, grabbing Peter's arm and throwing it around his neck. Gwen grabbed his other arm and between them they half-carried, half-dragged Peter to the elevator.

"Your strength would be nice about now, if you could control it," Peter said in a hoarse voice as the doctor and his girlfriend sidestepped into the elevator. "I don't think Gwen should be –"

"I'm fine," Gwen cut him off. "Hang in there, I know this is uncomfortable."

"Seen worse," Peter said, letting his head droop forward as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. "Sorry, guys."

"Gwen – he's right, you shouldn't be carrying him. I wasn't thinking." Bruce gave her a serious look, and Gwen shut her eyes, wishing she'd thrown on a robe or something. "You know I'm right."

She nodded. "Can I come and see him later?"

Bruce lifted Peter easily into his arms like a baby and said, "I'll have JARVIS let you know." Gwen watched as they disappeared into the infirmary and shut the door behind them. She took a deep shaking breath.

"You mean he just couldn't move?" Clark asked, looking in surprise at the tidily-dressed blonde girl before them. "That's not good. It could be poisoning of some kind..." He trailed off, seeing a sharp look from Steve.

"Not now. Bruce will get it sorted out,"the soldier assured Gwen, giving her a brave smile. "Are you worried about him?"

Gwen nodded. "A little. He said he thought it would be fine, but he always says that." She nervously laced her fingers together. "Okay... so, more than a little."

"The kid's been puny for a while now, I noticed," Tony put in, drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "I knew he was coming down with something."

"Thanks for telling us," Pepper muttered. "Maybe we could have gotten Bruce to look at him before this."

"He wouldn't let me tell," Gwen said quickly. "You know him."

"Everybody seems to think that just because Bruce has letters after his name and people call him Doctor that he's an expert in everything," Clint put in. "Maybe we should get him some real medical attention."

"He did fine with me," Steve admitted, "I would have never known the difference."

"Yeah, medical knowledge has improved since the Dark Ages, Capsicle," Tony said. "No that you'd remember. He's actually pretty good. Remember Natasha?"

"That –" Clint said sharply, preventing further comments, "–was different."

Tony shrugged. "Go figure."

They all tried in various ways to distract Gwen. They told her stories of their past exploits, and they updated her on their next mission to go to Norway and try to fend off bio-warfare that was beginning to erupt due to cult followings people had started that all more or less went back to the Tesseract and Loki. They even tried to get her to talk some herself: about her mom, her dad – that dead-ended – her brothers, and then, of course, they were back at Peter again.

"I'm gonna go check on him," Gwen murmured for the tenth time, and this time the Avengers didn't object. As the left the room, Tony said to the AI, "Hey, JARVIS, tell Bruce he's got a visitor. Finish up what he's doing and make it look good."

The rest of the team eyed Tony in silent thanks.

"Peter..." Gwen sat down on the stool Bruce had pulled up for her. The door shut behind the doctor, leaving the two alone. "Hey there, it's me."

Her heart broke to see him lying inert on the infirmary's high bed. It looked like an examining table, covered only with a white sheet, and Peter was hooked up to every kind of tube and I.V. imaginable. A monitor on the wall continued to beep, scanning his bloodstream for a variety of different anomalies. His eyes slowly opened – they were murky brown, like looking into a still can of wood-stain.

"Hi," he croaked, lifting a taped hand and putting it limply on her knee. "How are you?"

Gwen's eyes filled up as she took his slack hand and bowed her head over it, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. At last she looked up.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

Peter swallowed painfully, his brow corrugated as looked at the ceiling. "Bruce wouldn't tell me. I've been in and out all morning."

"Unconscious?"

He nodded, and said almost inaudibly, "But I think I know."

"What?" Gwen clasped his hand tighter. "At least if they know what it is, then they can know where to start getting you well again. Did you tell Bruce?"

Peter nodded again. "But he said not to tell you."

Gwen's eyes went still. "Tell me."  
He shook his head. "Not a chance. You'll freak out."

"Peter –" Her voice grew hard. "You'd better tell me."

"Don't threaten an invalid guy," he wheezed, giving a painful laugh. "No."

"One time you coaxed a terrible story out of me, and now this is payback. Please..." Gwen switched to pleading, her heart beating faster. "They might not let me back in to see you today."

"And by tomorrow they'll probably prove my theory wrong," Peter insisted in a quiet voice. "Just try to forget it, Gwen, really..."

She shook her head. "No. I want to know. I don't care –"

"Okay." His voice was light as a puppy's breath. "I was doing some research and it turns out that almost all male spiders die after mating." His eyes shut. "Either that or they only live for a little while afterward. I just thought that... it made sense."

Gwen's face blanched. "You are not a spider, Peter Parker –" she began, but broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth and choking back a sob.

"But I have a lot in my DNA, Bruce says..."

"You're not going to die," she whispered, squeezing his hand even harder. "What did Bruce say to this... stupid idea of yours?"

Peter smiled. "Not to tell you. It's stupid, right? But I got paranoid."

"What if this is my fault..." breathed Gwen, her face almost as pale as Peter's.

"Stop it. I don't feel like throwing you out the window again."

He might have said more, but just then Bruce tapped on the door, and entered. He took one glance at the screen and made an attempt at freezing his face, trying to look impassive.

"Miss Stacy, I need to ask you to leave now," Bruce said, seeing from her face that Peter told her his hypothesis. He shook his head. "Don't worry. He's on a lot of medication, and might not know what he's saying."

Peter nodded, and gave her a small smile as Gwen rose, and looked back over her shoulder. He pressed his two middle fingers to his palm and stuck his thumb out, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, don't listen to me. I love you, Gwen."

She didn't answer, but fled from the room, her heartbeat roaring in her ears as she ran.

* * *

They admitted him to the New York City Hospital that afternoon, and all the Avengers were up there long into the evening, "checking his progress," as they told Gwen. She expressed a desire to see him again, but Bruce told her that he was not stable, and it wasn't going to be good for her. She lay on her bed as the sun set and her room grew darker and darker. Finally, she got up numbly, and switched on the light, wondering if she could stand the tension one moment longer when her phone rang. She leapt for it and answered quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Gwen? This is Pepper," the voice on the other end said.

"Hi, Pepper. What's going on?"

In the oversized black cab in which all the Avengers were packed, driving through the late night traffic of N.Y.C, Pepper shut her eyes and exchanged a look with Tony, who returned it, sympathy in his gaze. She tried to keep her voice normal as she asked, not another sound in the cab,

"Where are you, sweetie?"

"I'm in my room," Gwen's voice came back. Pepper nodded and groped for her next sentence, trying to catch Tony's gaze again, but he looked away.

Gwen hurried on. "Where are you guys? How's Peter?"

"We're on our way back," Pepper said slowly. "We'll be there soon."

"How is he?"

The rest of the team could hear her voice through Pepper's phone. Steve buried his face in his hands as Clint looked at the ceiling, his eyes red. Clark sat in the corner, pale and silent, the back of his hand resting against the window.

"Sit down, okay?"

"I'm on my bed."

There was a long, painful pause, and Pepper took a deep breath, shutting her eyes. Her voice was soft.

"Gwen, honey – Peter didn't make it."

There was silence on the other end of the line, and after a long moment, Pepper said, "Gwen?"

A long shaking breath was heard, and she whispered, "What?"

Pepper didn't reply, knowing it was not a real question. Tony reached over and put his hand on Pepper's knee, and she covered his hand with hers.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, as the sounds of deep shaking sobs came over the phone line.

At last Gwen spoke. "Was anyone with him? Were you all there?"

"Bruce was with him, sweetie."

"Then –" she choked. "Tell him I said thank you."

Pepper's eyes filled with tears, and she managed to say, "Why don't you go out to a common area, so you're not all by yourself in your room. We'll be there in just a minute."

Gwen continued to take in deep gasping breaths and she breathed, "I'd rather stay here."

Pepper sat in silence listening to the girl cry on the other end of the line, and nodded when Tony gestured for her to stay on with Gwen.

"W-where are you?" she said at last through her tears.

"We're almost there, sweetheart." Pepper's heart was breaking.

"Okay." There was a long pause again, and then Gwen's voice came, loud enough to be heard by everyone in the cab. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

 


	20. Irreplaceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you know someone who has lost anyone important to them, and you're afraid to mention to them, because you think you might make them sad reminding them that they died, they did not forget they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that's a great, great gift."
> 
> -Elizabeth Edwards

"You're kidding." Natasha stared at the semi-circle of superheroes before her, and took in her breath.

Bruce nodded. "Terrible, isn't it."

"This is – this is..." Natasha groped, "- _beyond_  terrible." She shook her head. "What in the world are we gonna do?"

"What can we do?" Tony asked. "He's gone. His girlfriend is moving back in with her mom, and you're here now. Game over."

"Hey," Steve began. "Be nice."  
"What's not nice about that?" Tony asked innocently. "That's what's going on."

"We're glad you're back," Steve concluded, shaking his head at Tony, and turning to Natasha. "It's been too long."

Black Widow nodded, her mind still whirling. Peter Parker – Spider-Man... dead.

"Where's Gwen?" she asked after a long moment.

"In her room, I think," Bruce said quietly. "She hasn't come out much. Packing, I guess."

"I think I'll go talk to her," murmured Natasha, and with that, she left the room. The rest of the crew stared after her.

"What about Thor?" Clark asked momentarily. "Any word on his return?"

Tony shrugged. "Like the gods tell us what they're doing anyway."

Natasha knocked lightly on the door to Gwen's room, and heard no answer. She lifted her hand to knock again when it swung open ever so slightly, and the girl's pale face appeared.

"Hey, there," Natasha said, giving her a small smile. "Can I talk with you for a minute?"

Her brow furrowed, Gwen nodded, and opened the door wider, letting the undercover agent inside, and then closing it after her.

The room bore traces of its once impeccable organization, but possessions were strewn everywhere, partially in boxes, or in heaps upon the floor. The window was closed tight against the breezy summer day, but the curtains were open, at least.

Natasha sat down on the bed, and crossed one leg under the other. Gwen took a seat in the office chair, and regarded her visitor with round eyes.

"You don't know who I am, do you," Natasha began.

Gwen shook her head. "But I can guess. You're the Black Widow, right?"

She nodded. "Natasha." Leaning across the space, she stuck out her hand. "And I know you're Gwen. I just got here."

"Right."

Gwen took her hand briefly, and then they resumed their quietude. Silence reigned for a long moment, before Natasha said, "Listen, I am horrible at this kind of thing, but I wanted to say that I'm really sorry."

Gwen ducked her head. "Just don't," she whispered. "I'll be fine."

"I don't know. That's why I came."

"I'll be fine." Gwen broke into a loud, awkward laugh. "I mean, my boyfriend just died from the long-term results of a spider-bite and a  _relationship_ , and I've got his baby inside me, totally unplanned, but besides that –"

"Do you know why I left?" Natasha looked at the girl, who met her eyes with her own full of tears. She shook her head.

"You probably think that no one understands."

Gwen took in a shaking breath, and looked at her lap. "How could anyone."

"Well, I do."

Gwen's gaze snapped back to Natasha's. For a long moment they stared at each other, and Gwen opened her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

"How?" she managed at last.

"Listen, first of all, I would never,  _ever_  be talking about this to anyone else."  _Except Clint,_  she mentally added, but she did not say it aloud, instead, continuing, "But I guess I should tell you so you know you're not alone. You're not." Her tone was sincere, and her face... kind. Warm, almost, and inviting confidence. Gwen listened curiously.

"So..." Natasha sighed, and shifted on the bed, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ears. It was nice not to feel it about her shoulders again. That long hair had been really getting on her nerves. "I left because I was pregnant – unplanned, of course."

Gwen stared. "I – you- really?" She blushed. "I mean –"

"No, it's... a little unbelievable. Master assassins don't just end up pregnant with somebody random's kid."

"Somebody random?" Gwen said quietly. "You don't have to tell," she added.

"Right. But I hated myself. So." She stood. "I'm back now, and it's gonna be fine. Things'll pass for you like they did for me, and then on with life, I guess."

Natasha mentally kicked herself. That sounded so crass.

Gwen looked small curled up in the swivel chair. "It's different," she said softly. "I loved him so much. We had a whole life ahead of us."

"You still do," Natasha said, "and so does your baby."

"Just not him," Gwen choked.

And Natasha did the unthinkable. She crossed the room and wrappped the girl in a hug. Gwen cried on Natasha's shoulder as she had not allowed herself to cry since the news, and Natasha found herself, almost as if she were another person, petting her back, and simply letting her cry.

When Gwen quieted, she looked up with a puffy face, and wiped her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered haggardly. "But thanks."

"Better?" Natasha smiled.

"A little." Gwen sat quietly for a moment, the spy kneeling on the floor before the chair, and at last spoke again. "Natasha?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to the baby?" she asked in a whisper.

Natasha's face grew still. "Gone," she said at last. "Away from here. Adoption. Couldn't be happier."

"You don't think..." She trailed off, sniffling. "I mean... I think," she said again, her voice weak and distorted by tears, "I think that in a way this baby will give me so much pain. Because it will remind me of him. But in a way – I think that is the only thing that might make me happy again." She covered her face with her arm "Because it's a part of him that I will always have with me. Did you – do you feel like that?"

Natasha shook her head. "No. I only thought of the pain. I didn't want this at all."

"Did you love him?"

"If I did, I hate him now. The kid would just remind me of his father."

"His?"

Natasha gritted her teeth. "It's father." She stood again. "Look, I can't really talk about this, but I thought it might help to know I'm on your side. And – I'm really sorry. I hope you and your baby have a good life."

Gwen nodded. "Thanks."

Black Widow moved toward the door and opened it, but the girl's voice stopped her.

"Natasha?"

She turned.

"I really appreciate it. Pepper's... she's nice. But it's like I'm a charity case. A poor girl in a news-worthy situation."

"I know the feeling. I just left."

Gwen nodded. "I'm leaving too. But thanks. You – you get it."

Natasha smiled. "Take care, kid."

And when the door clicked shut behind her, Gwen smiled for the first time since Peter's death, and let her hand drop to her growing stomach. "Hey there," she murmured, tears choking her voice. "She was pretty nice, huh." She shut her eyes. "I am not alone."

* * *

It was too dark to see anything but the hazy blue glow of the unmistakeable cube, and Thor smiled to himself for the first time in a long while to know that it was out of Loki's reach at last. His attempts at gaining it had resulted in a nightmarish few weeks, but at last, with the aid of the Warriors Three and Sigyn, the possession of the Tesseract was declared a punishable offense by Asgardian law and it was locked up with the other relics in the great vault.

Footsteps behind him made him turn to see Sigyn herself, the fine robe covering her lithe form a welcome contrast to the tattered peasant's garb Thor had so accustomed himself to seeing her in.

"Resting upon your laurels?" she inquired quietly, and Thor merely chuckled.

"Your aid is greatly appreciated. We could not have done it without you."

She tossed her head. "It was nothing. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif are more to thank than I am."

"Sif is a great fighter, but you knew Loki. Your help in matters of reading his heart was invaluable. All the realms owe you their thanks."

She blushed with the ease of the peasant she once was, and still was at heart, idly swinging her arms back and forth for a long moment. At last, she spoke.

"Thor?"

"Aye, my lady."

"Is it true?" Her voice was very small.

"Is what true?" He turned to look at her.

Her head cast down, and with her fiery hair loose about her shoulders, she looked very young. The peasant child that was Loki's playmate grew into a beautiful young woman in the lapse of time while the princes were busy with their training, and when Loki and Sigyn had met again, things had happened quickly. Love, they say, races ahead of reason. Loki married her when it was discovered their love had created a child. Over the years they drifted apart, and even Thor did not understand their relationship.

"Do you still love him?" Thor asked gently. "You know he has done nothing to deserve it."

"Aye," she said quietly. "That is precisely why."

"You wait for him while he commits deeds of high treason between the realms, and scorns you while in your presence?"

"There is good in him."

Thor shook his head. "Few can see it."

Sigyn met his eyes. "Is it true, though? He loved a mortal woman."

Thor could not bring himself to answer. "I do not know that he loved her," he said at last.

Her footsteps retreated along the corridor, and Thor was left alone with his thoughts. Soon, he betook himself from the vault, his feet taking him far beneath the great rooms of the palace, and to the dungeons. Each cell was empty. If only Loki had been imprisoned here. Instead, he had been banished to a gap between the universes, a black hole of darkness and void, to spend his days until penetrate drove him back to accept Odin's terms: relinquishment of his magic, and an oath of fealty to Thor. It was as good as a death sentence. Loki would never comply. There was no more for him to do here.


	21. Bruce's Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The stars. I once tried to count them all. I actually made it to 4,348."
> 
> "You are exceptionally odd."
> 
> "I bet you're very popular with the girls."
> 
> -A Beautiful Mind (2001)

Clark entered the lounge, his eyes quickly scanning the group, but coming one short. "Thor has left again?" he said, directing his question toward Tony, who was nearest at hand.

"Oh, yeah, came and went. Nothing hot happening in Asgard, he came back here, and left again. Went to see his girlfriend, I think."

"Girlfriend?" Clark suppressed a smile. "Thor has a girlfriend?"

"Yeah, a scientist expert. They met a long time ago, work-related." He gave the term finger quotes in the air. "Kind of like you and Lois."

"Wait a second." Clark sobered. "Lois isn't my girlfriend."

"Or whatever you call it on Krypton.  _Soulmate_ , or something."

"Tony," Natasha called from the sofa where she was paging through a pictorial encyclopedia of firearms. "What have we talked about you making fun of other planets?"

"Destroyed planets," Clark murmured. "It's okay. I don't remember it." He smiled "Just don't assume anything... embarrassing, please."

"What is it with you guys and your reluctance in relationships? Gah." Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, Steve fell in love with my mom, Clint won't  _admit_  it, but he –"

"Shut up," Natasha growled.

"...Yeah. Then there's Bruce, who has zero backstory in that area, that I've been able to pry out of him at least, and so that leaves us -"

"Yeah, leave it there," Steve said, rising and crossing his arms. "You said we were gonna watch a movie, anyway."

"Right!" Tony snapped his fingers and called to the AI, "JARVIS, could we start the movie now?"

"Go ahead, ask if everyone else is ready," Clint grumbled, hurriedly packing up his work as the lights dimmed, and the opening music began to play, the footage on the screen roving the Tennessee countryside.

"What is this?" Steve asked, eying the 40's era crop-duster making its passes over a hazy field on the screen.

"Movie that is so totally Steve," Tony supplied.

"'Pearl Harbor,'" Bruce answered. A shadow passed across Steve's face.

"Am I going to like this?" he asked in a low voice, turning to the doctor.

"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Steve was drawn in by the story, but nearly left the room multiple times after the attacks began. The explosions seemed so close, the fire and the bullets real... Only the continued commentary from Tony's corner of the sofa kept him in the present, and afterward, he was forced to admit when asked if he liked the film, "I don't know. It's a little hard to say."

"What, was it like it really was? Is that what happened?"

"I wasn't there. But... it's got a lot of things that are just a little too close to me to talk about right now."

"Like what?" Tony pressed. Pepper was gone for the week, and weren't the rest of them feeling the results.

"Just leave him alone," Bruce said as the soldier promptly left the room.

An hour or so later, Bruce was walking along the corridor toward the elevator when he heard music coming from Steve's room. It was an upbeat jazzy tune, something that Steve no doubt really listened to in bygone days. But as Bruce descended to the lab, memories of his own returned to him in floods, washing him with locked-away thoughts of retro-night at university, the dark-haired daughter of General Ross, and his own shattered hopes...

* * *

_"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked for the third time. Not eliciting a response from his companion, Bruce simply put on the brakes, dragging his friend to a stop beside him._

_"What? Scared?" he taunted. "Of meeting a girl?"_

_"I'm not that type," Bruce insisted. "And certainly not at a party where everyone is going to be dressed so stupid."_

_"Aw, come on, get a life, science guy!" His friend punched him. "I've already told her about you."_

_"Great. That'll settle my nerves," Bruce groaned, looking down at the get-up which he had been persuaded to wear. "What's her name?"_

_"Betty. Betty Ross. And you all will get on just fine, she's a real weirdo like you."_

_"So you figured out setting me up with pretty girls didn't work? This is going to be much better. Now not only will she not like me, I won't like her either. Give me a break..." Bruce muttered, following his friend through the doorway into the room filled with noise and flashing lights._

_"My scene," the friend proclaimed, and Bruce just shook his head._

_"I know. Not mine."_

_"Yours is a lab, and I can tell you right now no girl wants to be had on an examination table."_

_"Shut up..." Bruce pushed past him, and took a view of the party which was already well underway. "Who came up with the idea of retro-night anyway? I thought we were supposed to look toward the future. We're supposed to forget the more embarrassing points of history."_

_"Embarrassing?" The friend grabbed a tumbler of some sort of intoxication from a nearby table and poured it down his throat. "Oh, you haven't seen embarrassing yet. Come on, let's find Betty."_

Betty _, Bruce thought, immediately conjuring up images of frizzy bangs and thick glasses. Betty. He followed his friend in a daze, unconsciously making his way toward a homely-looking group of dumpy freshman girls, but his friend caught his arm and steered him toward the pool table, where several guys were cheering as a slim, dark-haired beauty lined up to take the perfect shot._

_"Come on," her teammates encouraged. "Come on, it's you're time!"_

_"No, that'll never work!" her opponents jeered. "Look at that angle!"_

_With a crack, the queue sent the balls spinning across the green, rebounding first from one side, then the other, and pocketing three solids before the white ball rolled to a stop near the corner. The group erupted into cheers, while Bruce's friend gaped._

_"Betty!" He pushed his way through to her, and lifted his hands. "How'd you learn to do that?"_

_"It's just math," she shrugged._

_Bruce knew he was staring. Betty. So this was Betty. Beautiful, and brainy too. Maybe this was an okay idea after all._

_"Betty, let me introduce Robert Banner, nuclear nerd and general genius," his friend said, gesturing between the two. "Banner, meet Betty."_

_"Nice to meet you," Bruce said, ducking his head slightly. Gosh. Pretty girls always had this effect on him. They reduced him to brains and elbows and too-big feet, never anything desirable. He brushed a hand across his brow, pushing his dark curls away from his clammy forehead, and stammered, "I- I hear that you've heard about me already."_

_"Oh, sort of," Betty replied easily. "But I know not to believe this guy." She looked slyly at Bruce's friend, and at his nod, drew Bruce aside a little. "So –" she said in a quieter voice. "What's there to know?"_

_A nerd who could flirt. Bruce tried not to act a fool. "Nothing, I don't think," he shrugged, mentally kicking himself._ Smile, you idiot. Laugh. Try to make her think you're normal.  _"I mean, it'd bore you. I'm studying nuclear physics."_

_"That's not boring!" she said honestly. "But it's much too long for right now."_

_"You're right," he smiled. "So what about you?"_

_"Oh, gee..." She waved a hand. "I guess you know who my dad is. But it does get a little old talking about me only in reference to him."_

_Bruce found himself nodding. "I can see where that would get... annoying. But you're confident enough to stand on your own."_

_Betty gave him a quizzical look. "You think so?"_

_"Yeah." Bruce broke into a short laugh. "I mean, look at you, back there, running the show..."_

_"Oh, that..." She rolled her eyes. "They recruited me because I always win. I don't usually come to this kind of thing."_

_"Really? Me either. But here we are." He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. They stood in silence for a long moment, and simultaneously let themselves be lost among the commotion._

_Betty took the opportunity of scrutinizing Bruce. He looked around them with the interested gaze of a scientist, but the social skills of a rabbit. His face was sensitive and somewhat concealed behind the glasses and the thatch of thick dark hair that hid his forehead and crept forward around his temples and neck. His head was bobbing ever so slightly to the beat of the jazzy tune playing._

_"Do you dance?" Betty asked suddenly, seeing several couples beginning to jive to the music._

_Bruce hesitated, then shook his head, grinning broadly. "I mean, I do, but it's nothing I'm eager to show off in public."_

_Betty laughed. "Really. Would you do it if I did?"_

_"Can you?"_

_She hesitated, then said in a quiet voice, just loud enough to be heard over the music, "Yeah, but I don't like to."_

_"I'm the opposite. Don't know how, but I do anyway."_

_"Come on?"_

_He shook his head. "Not in front of this crowd."_

_"In front of the mirror?"_

_He grimaced. "No way. In my lab when I get a result I want. I do this stupid little jig thingy."_

_"My dad wanted me to know how to dance. He gave me lessons and everything. I just... hate getting out there like that. I'm actually an introvert," Betty admitted, her blue eyes honest._

_"Really?" He nodded. "I can see that. I am too, but I guess I thought you were more –"_

_"That's the problem." She tossed her head. "There are introverts who talk. There are introverts who interact socially. They just don't enjoy it." Betty quirked her mouth sideways. "I'd rather be with just a few good people than a crowd of..." She gestured at the general melee._

_"I agree." Bruce looked at her, and tried to keep his thoughts from getting ahead of him. Whoah, there. Don't go head over heels like some movie. But he had a feeling it was already too late..._

* * *

_Things progressed quickly. Business kept them apart, but the initial spark was there, which was fanned into flame by General Ross's top-secret experimentation, headed by one Dr. Bruce Banner, newly graduated nuclear physicist. After such a prolonged separation – nearly three years of school and other things that somehow take up one's life – it was like an oasis of hope to Bruce. Betty felt the same way toward him. Her quieter nature rebelled against her father's expectations of her, and in the young doctor heading the project, she found understanding and a common view of life._

_Then there was the accident. It had happened so quickly. Bruce could barely remember anything. New Mexico. Feverish preparations in the blistering heat, pressing the button on the detonator and watching the timepiece tick toward zero... that foolish boy. That foolish, foolish boy. What on earth was he doing on a nuclear test strip anyway. His father should never have brought him along._

_Bruce's feet hit the ground with dull thuds as he sprinted toward the teen. Rick's eyes were wide as Bruce at last closed the distance between them and tackled him, dragging him some ten yards or so, and giving him a shove into the ditch... He turned back for a split second, and then his vision fragmented..._

* * *

_"Leave him alone!" a voice shrieked. "Leave him alone!"_

_The man was like a beast, enraged, and irrational. He turned toward the woman, and advanced on her, the sounds of blows and cries filling young Bruce's ears. He covered his head and cowered in the corner as his mother was beaten, and only uncovered his eyes when the noise stopped._

_Turning, exhausted in his rage, the enormous man grabbed the skinny mop-haired boy and lifted him bodily from the ground. Fear filled Bruce's heart even while anger struggled for the upper hand. He felt his chest swell and begin to ache in a dangerous way as the man pulled his face close._

_"You're a mutant, boy," the man breathed, alcohol heavy on his breath as he exhaled into the boy's nostrils. "Nobody gets that on a test without cheating."_

_"I didn't cheat," Bruce whispered, and his father drew him still closer, so close that Bruce's eyes hurt with trying to focus._

_"You see that?" He jerked his head toward the sobbing heap clad in a housedress that was the boy's mother, and broke into an intoxicated smile. "This is your fault. I told her you'd grow up to be a freak. If you were normal, I wouldn't be like this. Just admit you cheated."_

_Bruce's muddy brown eyes fell closed. "I didn't cheat," he whispered, his mouth dry._

_The man only continued in a slow drawl. "I told her you'd be a freak. Turns out I was right."_

_He released the kid into a heap on the floor, watching him closely as he scrabbled to his feet, his too-short jeans faded and torn, and his shoes stained with evidence of walking to and from school every day._

_Lumbering from the room without another word, Brian Banner slammed the door behind him, and with a deep ragged breath, Rebecca rose, and went to her boy, wrapping him in her bruised arms and letting her tears fall into his hair. He was shaking from head to toe. She could not see his face, but after she slowly began to clean up the broken glass and plaster and other evidence of her husband's ongoing rage, he continued to shake, not with fear, but with suppressed anger..._

 


	22. Unfinished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've had it for a long time. Since the day we met. ... That moment that changed everything for both of us... The guilt is why you won't let yourself turn back... Even if I don't live through this, you've got to know. It's not your fault. I forgive you... It's not. Your. Fault."
> 
> -Earth 616 Archive

_"Hello?" Bruce held the phone close to his ear, listening for the voice on the other end. "Betty?"_

_"Oh, hi," she said at last, her voice quiet. "I can't talk long, but I –"_

_"Where were you today? I didn't see you at all." He scratched his head, hoping his voice sounded normal. He took a deep breath._

_"I was busy." There was a long pause, and finally she burst out, "Dad said I should stop seeing you."_

_Bruce was silent for a moment, and then said, in a pathetic effort at hilarity, "He's gonna have to get you declared legally blind, then."_

_"You... are you okay?" Her voice sounded frightened. He shut his eyes._

_"Yeah. Yeah, fine. But I miss you."_

_"Bruce..." She let out her breath. "Maybe he is right."_

_Bruce listened in silence. How could he agree? He didn't agree. At least... not if he – no. No._

_"'Kay," he said at last, his voice plain. "I can see that."_

_"Is it... does it still happen?" Her voice was small._

_Bruce's eyes roved the room, as if the answer was held in his nondescript surroundings. He found himself nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. Not every time, but... It's – it's..." He trailed off, drawing a hand over his face. "Listen, I'll just let you go. I shouldn't have called –"_

_"Wait." On the other end of the line, Betty's brows drew together over tear-filled eyes. "I don't know why this had to happen to you..."_

_"Please. You don't have to do this."_

_"I know. I mean, I know you don't want pity. I just mean – I want to say..." She took a deep breath. "You can keep it a secret. I think we can still make this work."_

_Bruce's head spun. "What do you mean?"_

_"I want to see you still."_

_He shook his head vehemently. "It's not safe. I – I might... I'm not me anymore, I don't even know –"_

_"I do."_

_Bruce's throat tightened.. "I love you," he whispered. He felt his consciousness begin to waver..._

* * *

_"Betty!" Bruce called, barging open the door, and forcing his breathing to slow. Water ran in rivulets from his soaked clothing "Betty!" he shouted again, bracing a hand against the wall, and letting his head drop forward as the blood continued to pump double-time through his veins._

_Hurried footsteps clattered across the floor, and his wife stood in the doorway, the dim light of the evening lamps shining upon her pajamas. Her dark hair was loose about her shoulders, her body beautifully changed once again to accommodate for their third child. A pang of fear struck at his heart, of anger that things had to be so- so..._

_He clenched his teeth and managed, "I thought I wouldn't make it –"_

_"Okay – settle down," his wife began, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, and adding, "You're going to be fine..."_

_"No, I'm not!" he shouted, swiping her hand away, and turning to regard her with fear-filled eyes. "It's happening again..."_

_"It's going to be okay," Betty said loudly, even while backing away from him. "The last time this happened was a long time ago, and you didn't even –"_

_"I'll hurt you..." he growled, tepid saliva beginning to seep through his locked teeth as sweat broke out on his forehead. "The cab driver –"_

_"Bruce," Betty said, alarm pitching her voice high with fear. "Bruce, stay with me, you can fight it, you've been doing so well..."_

_"Get out!" he growled, wheeling, his face creased beyond recognition, his skin beginning to turn. "Take the boys, and go!"_

_"Bruce –"_

_"Go!" he bellowed, and Betty fled the room, hurriedly hustling their two sons, ages 2 and 5 from their beds and into their coats._

_"Come on, honey, we're going over to grandma's," she told the toddler, who was listening with wide eyes to the sounds of panting and gasping from the adjacent room, and the heavy footfalls of the man fighting for time for his family._

_"What about Ralbert..." her older son piped up, remembering the stuffed rabbit. "What about–"_

_"There's no time," Betty said, her voice escalating. "Run to the car, hurry, hurry! I'll be right there."_

_Nodding, the older boy took his brother by the hand and the two charged out into the rainy night, hauling open the back door to the car and clambering into backseat, straining their eyes toward the patch of light in which their mother still stood._

_"Bruce –" Betty called, her heart pounding. There was no sound from the living room, so she took a few cautious steps back through the hall. "Bruce?"_

_She was nearly knocked flat by the force of the beast's enraged roar. Betty pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to see his eyes, trying once again to remind herself this was not him, but that he was still in there somewhere..._

_"Get out!" the beast roared. "Get out!" He fell forward onto the mantlepiece, tearing the shelf from the brick wall and tossing it aside, upending furniture, and crushing floorboards wherever he stepped. Rearing his head, he banged it upon the ceiling fixture, and with a cry of rage, raised his huge fists and tore it from the ceiling._

_Betty scrabbled to her feet, but she slipped again on the slick floor, wet with the rain coming in from the open front door. The beast advanced on her, breathing noisily, and when she turned, his flailing fist caught her beneath the jaw, sending her flying into the coat rack, and toppling it into a heap._

_The tiny eyes of the creature saw the woman gasping, and disentangling herself from the muddle of coats and splintered wood. He stepped closer, intending to grab her and fling her bodily from his presence, but she was gone into the rainy night, the door slammed in his face. He let out another rafter-rattling cry, and staggered backwards, tiny taps of reason beginning to filter through to his frenzied brain. He knew not how long this went on, but he paced, and threw things, and at last Bruce fell heavily against the corner of the bookshelf and the doorway, and half-sat, half-lay there, unable to move, his labored breathing the only sound in the room._

_His eyes fell shut and he did not even open them when he heard the crunch of footfalls on broken glass, cutting through the drumming of the rain on the rooftop._

_"Bruce? Bruce..."_

_Betty then saw his legs and hurried over, dropping to her knees beside him, and taking his hand._

_"Bruce, it's me..." she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "Are you okay?"_

_His eyes slid open, and took in her face, her broken lips, her battered brow, her coat covering her pajamas, her wet hair clinging to her face. He managed a nod, and then let his head fall forward, holding it in his hands and taking a deep sobbing breath._

_"Oh, gosh, oh, gosh..." he muttered. "Are you – did I –"_

_"I'm okay, it's okay, darling," Betty whispered, drawing him within her arms and holding him close. "It's okay..."_

_"It's not okay," Bruce managed, letting out a strange gasping laugh. "It's not okay, it's just getting worse –"_

_"We'll worry about it later," she began, but he pulled away, his face wet, his eyes red._

_"Later? When? When I've destroyed everything, when I've hurt you, killed you, when I can no longer –"_

_"When it gets out of control," Betty said quietly._

_"It_ is  _out of control!" Bruce exploded, holding out his hands before him, helpless to order their deeds. "I don't know... I just don't know..." he murmured, tears tracing a path down his cheeks. "Where are the boys?" he managed at last._

_"At my mom's. They'll stay the night."_

_"We can't go on like this."_

_She stroked his hair, matted and sweaty, from his brow, and held him close, as he lifted a shaking hand and traced a finger down the swell that was their unborn child. "It isn't safe," he whispered._

_Betty made no response._

_"I cannot stay here, and be a danger to you, our children..."_

_"Bruce –" Betty choked. "You belong here. You want to be here."_

_He lifted his face, pale, and tearstained. "I don't every time get what I want."_

* * *

_He boarded a plane the next day. He kissed each of his boys, holding them close, their small bodies crushed against his starched maroon shirt, and saying, "Be good, now, and make me proud." He straightened, and took a deep breath._

_"Where are you going, Dad?" his eldest asked in a small voice, his dark hair ruffled, and unruly._

_Bruce turned back to him, giving him a small smile. "Away for a bit."_

_"Are you coming back?"_

_His eyes met Betty's and he squatted down again, looking his son in the eye. "Be good," he whispered, putting a hand on his head, and then hurriedly turning away so the boy wouldn't see the tears that flooded his gaze._

_He wrapped his arms around his wife. "Call me," he whispered into her hair. She nodded. "Call me when the baby is born."_

_Betty took in a trembling breath as Bruce drew away and pressed his hand to her belly. "I love you, little one," he whispered, and then joined his lips to his wife's a final time._

_Then, without another word, he picked up his suitcase and strode down the terminal. His family stood in a tiny bunch, watching until his back became just a tiny purple dot, and then disappeared from view altogether._

_Bruce looked out the plane, the sun glaring off the windows of the airport, trying to see if Betty and the boys still watched. The great propellers started up, and the whole plane began to vibrate... Bruce shut his eyes as, with a jolt, they began to move –_

He came to with a start. The jolt was someone shaking him. He opened a bleary eye to see Tony's face close to his.

"What's going on?" Tony said, loudly it seemed. "You just crashing here for the night?"

Bruce looked around him and realized the lab was dark, and his face hurt... He lifted a hand to it and felt the imprint of the supplies on which he must have gone to sleep.

"Yeah, I mean, no..." He grimaced, taking a deep breath. "I guess I should go to bed."

"I guess you should," Tony said doubtfully. "Unless you're going with Clint."

"Clint?" Bruce furrowed his brow. "Where's he going?"

"No one knows, but I'm dying to find out. Iowa, I think." Tony scruffed his hands through his hair. "No idea why he wants to go there, but he keeps leaving. Only gone for a day or two, then back, nothing to say. Gosh, what I'd give to figure out why..."

But no one did. Not for a long while that is.

**CONTINUED IN THE FORTHCOMING SEQUEL "NOVASENNA". HAPPY READING!**


End file.
